


PULSE

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: A big gay wedding, Angst, Attempted passive suicide, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Male Love, Multiple Personality Disorder, Supernatural Creatures, Vampires, did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 35,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are on a killer case when they are unexpectedly helped by Sam and Dean Winchester and their fallen angel Castiel.</p><p>(I know John is a fan of the show but for this bit of the 'Verse the show does not Exist and Sam, Dean and Cas are all real.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bofurlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofurlove/gifts).



PULSE

CHAPTER ONE: BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS

"ARSEHOLES!" 

Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes was not having a good morning. He was TRYING to make John breakfast, but who the hell makes waffles from scratch to prove their love? Idiots, that's who! And eggs benedict? Forget about it!

Perhaps John would like a nice romantic cup of tea?

No wait...what had he put in the kettle yesterday....oh no, that was the tea strainer, so...oh...perhaps tea from a bag?

"SHIT!" Sherlock swore, and got down a clean mug.

"The fuck are you doing?" came Johns sleepy voice, staggering over in pyjama bottoms and robe, hair like a pineapple, rubbing his eyes.

"Making you a romantic cup of tea." Sherlock said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And the smoke?"

"...experiment..?" Sherlock said, grinning and hoping John would fall for it. He didn't, but appreciated how cute Sherlock looked trying to fool him.

"Tea would be lovely." John sat down at the table.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Sherlock asked. They had spent most of the night skulking. Doorways, clubs, alleyways. Someone was killing club goers and Sherlock and John had gone undercover as patrons. In tight black jeans. John had only just regained feeling in his calves. Sherlock, of course, had looked gorgeous, all tall and willowy and pale. John had just looked uncomfortable. Probably because he had no feeling in his calves.

"Remind me again why I follow you like a puppy?" he sighed.

"The danger." Sherlock smiled. "And you like getting into my knickers."

"That I do."

"I may have at least some idea of whom to investigate, if that's any consolation to you."

"Yeah. Heaps." John sighed, and then smiled as a hot cup of tea was slid in front of him. He stretched his neck a bit. It was a bit stiff and sore, probably from when he was pushed into an alley wall by Sherlock to avoid a group of goth club goers.

"Sore?" Sherlock asked, and came around to rub Johns shoulders with his long, pale, warm fingers.

"Mnnnn, that's the ticket." John stretched like a cat and tilted his head to give Sherlock more access to his neck. Sherlock dug his thumbs in and soon had John purring, tea forgotten.

"Feel better?" Sherlock whispered into Johns ear, making John shiver. The mans voice did things to bits of him that should be noted in anatomy books. John just smiled, and then Sherlock dipped his head further and began to nip and suck gently at Johns neck and throat. John laid his head back to allow Sherlock more skin to play with, and Sherlock did not need to be told twice. He attacked Johns sensitive spots vigorously and John purred again.

Then the door to their flat was kicked in, and two scruffy flannel clad men were suddenly in their house, one pointing a sawn off shotgun at them and the other a...was that a stake?

"Get off him you undead scum!" The shorter one roared and then, for some reason, both the intruders threw water into the stunned faces of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

#


	2. HEAVEN MUST BE MISSING AN ANGEL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, if Castiel comes in with that look in his eyes, and that deep voice, Flirt is naturally going to come in his panties!

PULSE

CHAPTER 2: HEAVEN IS MISSING AN ANGEL

John was, naturally, the first to react.

He launched from his chair, shoving Sherlock behind him, and stalked forward three steps, making himself the target to protect Sherlock.

"What the ACTUAL FUCK???" he demanded. 

The flannel-wearing men looked at each other and then shuffled a bit.

"Erm...die undead scum?" the taller one said, shrugging and shifting the..yes, god damn it, it WAS a stake...a little in his hand.

"Not today, I haven't even had a cup of tea!" John shouted angrily.

"John-" Sherlock said in a warning tone.

"Shut it vamp!" the shorter man demanded, swinging the sawn off to bead on Sherlock.

Only to find the gun flipped up, sent flying, and himself slammed up against a wall. The little sandy haired man was pressing his forearm to the intruders neck, and some raspy breathing ensued.

"You want to watch you name calling." John said. "Sherlock has not done that for drugs in years."

"JOHN!" Sherlock complained. "Jesus!"

"Let my brother go!" the taller man then said, flicking his fringe out of his eye and poking John right in between his shoulder blades with the stake.

"I think there must have been a misunderstanding." Sherlock said then, stepping forward and raising his hands in slight surrender.

"Yeah, the misunderstanding that you can drink this mans blood and get away with it!" the man John had pinned to the wall by the throat rasped harshly.

"Ew, blood play, hard limit!" Sherlock said, screwing up his nose attractively.

"You mean you....DON'T use this guy as a donor?" the stake wielder said to Sherlock, indicating John.

"Look at the marks on his neck, the poor man is this guys slurpee!" the neck-compromised man insisted.

John looked a little embarrassed.

"We like hot sex, okay, that surely is no crime!" He said, flushing cutely.

"Not a sawn off shotgun, pointy stick, water in the face sort of crime anyway." Sherlock suggested.

"Dean...the water didn't fizzle..." the tall man at Johns back I'd then.

"Then why we're they scoping the goths last night?" the one called Dean gasped back.

"Oh, yes, that was for a case." Sherlock said.

"Case?" Dean gasped.

"Sherlock Holmes,Consulting Detective." Sherlock put his hand out and the tall man crossed his arm over the stake and shook Sherlocks hand.

"Sam. My brother Dean." Sam said, and dropped the stake. "His hands are warm Dean"

"Call your terrier off!" Dean begged.

"John, it's okay." Sherlock touched Johns shoulder. John let Dean go and Dean held onto his throat, breathing in lovely clean air.

"My partner, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock said.

"Who in the fuck are you guys?" John demanded.

"I said, I'm Sam and this is Dean-"

"You're Hunters." Sherlock said. "After the same killer I am. The Goth killer." 

"Ah...yeah...and you know this how?" Sam asked.

"Oh Christ don't get him started!" John smiled indulgently at his Sherlock. 

"Actually John, I was told to look out for them." Sherlock said. "I just thought they would be out in the world, not crashing into our flat."

"Told to look out for them? Who by?" John asked.

"Mycroft,"

"Of fucking course." John sighed.

"You know that pompous dick?" Dean asked.

"My brother." Sherlock said.

"My condolences." Dean answered.

"He said you were here for the vampires." Sherlock said and John snorted. All eyes turned to him and he paused. Then he slumped.

"Oh for fucks sake, vampires are real too?" he wailed.

"Too?" Sam looked to Sherlock.

"He saw some aliens recently. It did not end well." Sherlock said.

"Aliens are real?" Dean asked, shocked.

A clattering of feet galloped on the stairs and up to the door of the flat. A scruffy haired man with a tie, suit and trench coat fell into the flat.

"Sam, Dean, these men are not vampires..." the newcomer said in a voice so throat rumblingly deep Johns eyes rolled and he turned to look coyly at him.

"Well HI there cute stuff. Heaven must be missing an angel!" said Flirt, curling his hair around one of his fingers.

"Ah, yes, it is." the man said, the voice causing Flirt to sigh and bat his lashes dramatically. "And I hope they don't find me."

"Flirt. Please, not now- WAIT!" Sherlock stopped himself, mid yanking-Flirt-off-the-sexy-new-man, "ANGELS are real?"

"Sometimes I am corporeal, yes." the newcomer said, bluest blue eyes piercing Flirts. Flirt used his hand to wave air in front of his face. 

"God, just keep talking, I could come just from your voice!"

"Flirt, fucks sake!" Sherlock hissed.

"This is Castiel, the ex-angel." Dean said. "He works with us now."

"Sam, Dean, this is Sherlock Holmes house. He is the brother of the man who asked us to come here." Castiel said, ignoring Flirts breathy sigh.

"We just found that out Cas, thanks." Dean said, crouching to pick up his sawn off. "I am sure it is just a coincidence he looks like a blood sucking fiend."

"I would like to suck YOUR fiend." Flirt stage-whispered to Castiel.

"Are you propositioning me?" Castiel asked.

"Oh most assuredly yes!" Flirt said, looking coyly at Cas, who just stared with those piercing eyes.

"Gentleman, this is Flirt, one of the men who live inside John." Sherlock sighed.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Hey?" Dean added.

"You hunt supernatural creatures and you don't believe in Multiple Personalities?" Sherlock asked haughtily. 

"Don't worry..." Flirt whispered, pushing Cas into the wall and kissing him on his neck. "I believe in YOU...."

#


	3. A PLAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a plan and Castiel gets all perky.

PULSE

CHAPTER 3: A PLAN

In the three minutes it took to txt Mycroft and have his brother reply, Sam, Dean, Cas and Flirt (Sitting on Castiels knee) were seated in the lounge room, all weapons stowed. 

"Oi, you....Flirt is it?" Dean hissed at the cute man sitting on his Angels knee. "The angel is...ah....taken."

"Ooo, roughly?" Flirt giggled, his arms around Castiels neck. Castiel seemed quite at home with a strange man on his lap. Dean was most put out.

"No, I mean..." Dean frowned. "Cas, help me out here!"

"I am Deans sexual partner of choice." Castiel said, looking Flirt straight in the eyes. Flirt shuddered a deep breath in. Those eyes and that voice were making him all puddly.

"Will he share you?" Flirt asked, eyes all big and puppy-dog.

"I have never asked-"

"NO!" Dean shouted, then coughed. "I don't share."

Sherlock snapped his phone shut and walked into the lounge room. He held his arms open for Flirt. 

"Come here darling." he said, and Flirt flew into Sherlocks arms. "Castiel is off limits sweetheart." Sherlock murmured into the Alters hair and Flirt nodded, playing with Sherlocks fingers as the detective addressed the crowd.

"So, Mycroft is coming over, bringing his lap dog Lestrade with him. He said he is glad we are all in the same room."

"Pompous ass planned this." Dean bitched

"It's ARSE Dean." Flirt giggled, and took one of Sherlocks fingers into his mouth to suck. Sherlock barely noticed. He was frowning into the air. Dean was just frowning in general.

"If vampires are killing the Goth Clubbers, then the people John and I followed last night must be members of the covern." he said.

"You tracked vamps?" Sam asked. 

"I did not know they were vampires, but yes I did." Sherlock said.

"Impressive." Sam nodded. "Not everyone can do that."

"Not everyone SHOULD." Dean snapped. He hated amateurs, and he considered willowy still suspiciously vamp-like Sherlock and his Schitzo partner waaaaaayyyy into the amateur status.

"If that is so, I know where they live." Sherlock said.

"You followed them to their nest? Let's go!" Dean said, enthusiastically.

"We have to wait for my brother." Sherlock said.

"What the hell can he do to help?"

"You will just have to trust me on this one." Sherlock said.

"Dean is not big on trust." Sam offered, and Dean snorted. 

"Mycroft blew up a cave of cannibals." Flirt said, around Sherlocks fingers. Sherlock absently rubbed his hips against Flirt, and smiled at him.

"Flirt, that's a secret."

"Oops."

"Spanking, later." Sherlock promised, just as the door to the flat opened and in strolled Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. They had "accidently" been just up the road when Sherlock txt them.

"Gregoreeeeeee!!!" Flirt cried, and leaped into Leatrade's arms. Greg oofed and cringed. His chest was still a bit tender from the enforced scarification he had endured four months before.

"Flirt, baby, my chest is still sore, go easy hey?" Greg said, and Flirt whispered "Sorry."

"It's cute, how you do that...." Sam said to Sherlock then.

"How we do what?"

"Treat him like he's normal." Sam said.

"He IS normal." Sherlock sniffed, insulted.

"No I mean, he is John and you treat him like John, and he is Flirt and you treat him like Flirt." Sam said, in explination.

"Oh he is much more than John and Flirt." Greg said then, stroking Flirts arm.

"How many people are inside him then?" Dean asked, a bit warily.

"Seven." said Sherlock. "Now do be quiet. Let's get this organised."

"Seven!" Dean mouthed to Sam, who shrugged.

Mycroft took this as his cue to start proceedings so Greg took Flirt to the lounge. They sat next to Castiel. Greg managed at the last second to encourage Flirt to sit next to him, rather than on his lap.

"Sherlock, we will need John back for this." Mycroft suggested, and so Sherlock barked "JOHN!" in the general direction of the couch.

Flirt jumped, kind of shivered and then looked around

"Oh, hey Greg." John said

"Hey John." 

"Been here long?"

"Just got here mate."

Mycroft ahemmed.

"So last night Sherlock tracked the vampires to their nest. Sherlock, you may be familiar with the place, it is the abandoned factory where you and Brandon did the drugs Lestrade sold you, and John, it's where Meth shot up."

Dean and Sams eyes went all big. There were so many stories here! All they knew for sure was that these Englishmen were all stark raving bonkers.

"So, they cleared the riff raff out, and have established a rather nice nest, for vampires." Mycroft went on.

"Any idea why they are here?" John asked, tidying his attire. Flirt liked his robe to ride down his shoulders where John liked his to be tied tight.

"I can answer that." Sam said. "They are establishing a colony here because we chased them from America."

"Quite so Mister Winchester." Mycroft agreed. "They have infiltrated a Goth club called 'Pulse' and have mingled with the underground Vamp circles, taking advantage of gullible humans who are very much into the fake vampire lifestyle, and are finding willing blood donors. They are also preying on the homeless, whom nobody misses."

"So, let's go there now and stab and jab the blood drinkers!" Dean said enthusiastically.

"Not quite Mister Winchester." Mycroft said. "We need to infiltrate the club. There is more at stake than mere vampires overtaking Great Britain."

"Knew it." John snapped quietly.

"What we need is men on the inside." Mucroft went on.

"What are you suggesting?" Castiel asked, suddenly vocal. He looked positively perky.

"I am suggesting that Sherlock and young Mister Winchester dress as Goths and go to Pulse."

"The fuck...?" Dean spat.

"They are the tallest and therefore more attractive to other Goths." Mycroft explained.

"And we short stacks?" Dean snipped then, looking over at John.

"Back up of course." Mycroft said.

"And Cas?" Sam asked.

"Sherlocks false blood donor." Mycroft said.

"You got this all worked out, hey, fancy pants." Dean said, feeling totally taken over.

"Of course I do Mister Winchester." Myroft answered, cocking an eyebrow.

"What if we don't like this plan?" Dean said, shifting his stance a little.

"Dean..."

"What if we just want to take your plan and piss all over it, you poncy, two bit-"

"Dean-"

"What Cas?"

"I want to be a vampire." Castiel said, and grinned in a way neither Sam or Dean had ever seen before.

#


	4. DEAN SUCKS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John whittles some stakes with the Americans, and Cas reveals he has more than a small vamp fetish.

PULSE

CHAPTER 4: DEAN SUCKS

Lestrade left soon after to spend the day at work, leaving Mycroft and Sherlock to go shopping for vampire clothes, on the Governments budget.

Sam, Dean, John and Cas spent the time at Baker street sharpening sticks into stakes. Dean was not sure how to take the good Doctor Watson. He was compact, sure, with an impressive upper body, but his eyes were soft, and he was wearing a sweater...a sweater!

"Ever thought of making wooden bullets?" John asked. "You could hand craft them, stain them. Give the vamps that personal touch." 

"Yeah, and we could burn little sayings onto them." Dean snorted sarcastically.

"Oh, like...Heartbreaker!" John said. Sam chuckled. "Have a heart!" John added, then went on. "I heart you."

"Wood you die." Sam said.

"WOOD.... you both shut up!" Dean exclaimed.

"Thats not funny..." Sam said, confused. 

"I don't know how much I trust a stake, I prefer a weapon that has a bang." John said. "I love the sawn off."

"Oh yeah?" Dean said. "Filled with rock salt, it will take down the evil."

"Could have used that in Afghanistan." John said, turning the stick over and sharpening the other side.

"You in the army?" Sam asked.

"Was. Two tours. Invalided home.." John said.

"Thank you for your service." Sam said and John saluted him with Deans whittlin' knife.

"You know your way around a gun then?" Dean asked, feeling a bit better, but the man was still in a sweater....

"Yeah, I do." John nodded. "A lot of my army buddies came home, never wanted to touch a gun again. As far as I am concerned, my highly illegal browning is my friend. Saved my life and Sherlocks a number of times."

"Good to know.." Dean said, but still could not get past the sweater....

#

When Sherlock, Sam and Castiel came out of Sherlocks room later that night everybody stared.

Sherlock of course looked awesome, he carried off vamp really well. And all in black like that, well, it was like gilding a lily.

Sam was really uncomfortable. He was allowed to keep his black jeans but his upper body was clothed in a tight black v-neck T-Shirt. His long hair was tied back in a pony tail and he had a black wooden beaded choker around his long neck.

But it was Castiel who surprised them all. In black trousers and a black formal shirt, rolled over his arms and unbuttoned at his throat, he looked gorgeous. A yin/yang symbol sat on a leather thong in the hollow of his throat.

"Cas..." Dean choked. "Wow...dude..."

"Do I look okay Dean?" Castiel asked.

"You look awesome!" Dean smiled. He forgot everyone in the room to step up to his angel and take hold of his shoulders. Castiel stared up into Deans face and smiled, a wonderful, happy smile. Rare. And beautiful.

"Ah, yes, he's stunning. Now mark his neck" Sherlock said to Dean.

"Uh?" Dean asked, turning to face Sherlock but keeping his hands on his angel. John noted that Castiel kept his eyes on Dean, the smile still on his face.

"Mark his neck. He has to look as if he is my donor." Sherlock said. "Unless you would like me to do it."

"No!" Dean snapped. Then he sighed. "I'll do it. Cas-" he turned back to Cas to ask him to come with him to find a private room but Cas had tipped his head jack, eyes closed, waiting. Dean was struck breathless at how fucking PRETTY Cas looked, waiting for his teeth in his throat. With a tiny growl he forced his mouth onto the juiciest part of Cas' neck and fanged away. 

Castiel gasped and froze, stock still, under Deans mouth. It hurt, of course, but it was a delicious sort of pain, a pain that made his blood sing and his heart pound. It was hot and thrilling, and he did not want Dean to stop.

All around the room, all eyes were on the two men in the centre of the lounge room. It was hot, and sexy, and breathlessly beautiful. Poor Castiels knees almost gave out, but Dean just dug his fingers into the angels shoulder and held him up. Castiels head slowly tipped back further and Dean pulled him in for a really good biting. He added a sucking move and Castiels eyes fluttered under his eyelids. 

"Good Christ." John breathed, and grabbed for Sherlocks hand. Sherlock gripped it manfully but neither looked away.

A sweet moan rose from Castiel as Dean sucked his tender flesh, bringing dark purple blood to the surface until Castiel whimpered. Dean let his angel go, and held him close as he weaved on his feet.

"Oh, shit, that looks nasty." Dean said, looking at the dark mark he had left on the Angels skin. It was huge, and purple, and red, and it had teeth scratches in the middle.

"It's perfect." John breathed.

"It completes the look." Mycroft said, but even he was slightly affected by the pure porn he had witnessed, if the grip on his umbrella was any judge, and by the way, Greg knew it did and he was grinning like an idiot.

"So, we going?" Dean said then, still not taking his eyes off Castiel. 

"Yeah, lets go mingle with vamps." Sam coughed, turning to leave the flat.

"Come on Cas." Dean whispered, encouraging his angel to open his eyes and move. 

They took Mycrofts town car and they were near the club in fifteen minutes. The three vamps hopped out.

"We will be just outside Sherlock" John said, and Sherlock kissed him. "Be safe."

"Of course John." Sherlock said, then winked. "Love you." he whispered.

Then he joined Sam and Cas, took hold of Castiels hand and stalked off. Sam loped along with him and John had to admit, they looked awesome, and certainly attractive enough to interest vamps, or vamp wannabes.

"Right, let's go hide in the bushes, scare us some vamps." Dean said, to hide the fact he was worried for both Cas and his brother.

"I need a cup of fucking tea." John sighed.

#


	5. OOOPS, CAS, REALLY?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel neglects to mention the easy way to find real vampires amongst the wanna be's.

PULSE

CHAPTER 5: OOPS CAS, REALLY?

Dean and John tucked themselves into a darkened doorway down an alley with a good view to the front door of Pulse. Mycroft and Lestrade had dropped them and headed off, but were a mere call away. Sometimes Mycrofts slightly obsessive surveillance of everything came in handy.

Dean was somewhat comforted that John had covered his sweater with a black shooting jacket but the man was still a sandy haired little dumpling. Sure, he had served in the army, but as a medic. And invalided home, what did he do, slip on an IV and get a banged up ankle? Seriously, Dean hated amateurs. Had the little guy even faced the evil Dean faced nearly every day? Most likely not. This was Britain, and this guy was English. A lovely little English bloke in way over his head.

"Hey...don't worry. I got your back." Dean said. John turned to him and smiled. His smile was sweet, for fucks sake, and those eyes were just so...soft!

"I am infinitely more comfortable knowing that." John said. Was that....sarcasm? 

"How many vamps have you faced before?" Dean asked, getting a bit spiky at Johns attitude.

"Counting tonight? None." John shrugged. "Is that important?"

"Important?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yeah, it kinda is. Listen, if anything happens, just follow my lead, okay?"

"Well, I am a good follower." John said, and winked at Dean. Dean looked a bit taken aback. John took the time to bring out his Browning and make sure it was locked and loaded. 

"A gun will not stop a vamp." Dean snorted.

"In my experience Dean, humans are way more dangerous than any vamp you could ever throw at me." John said quietly, and set his gaze to the door of Pulse. Dean shrugged.

"Whatever, dude."

#

Sam was not entirely happy, but it could have been worse. Some of the vamp chicks in this place were quite cute. And they were interested in him. Sometimes being tall DID help. But damned if he could not tell the real vamps from the fake. And it would be impractical to splash holy water on everyone. He was beginning to get the feeling the only way he would be able to tell a real vamp from a fake was to use his jugular as bait.

"Again..." Sam sighed, and moseyed over to a dark corner, where he could keep an eye on Sherlock and Castiel.

#

Sherlock planted himself at a good vantage point and held Castiel in front of him like a shield. Cas was not sure what the tall detective wanted from him so he was happy to be guided. He was certainly more than pleased at the amount of vampily dressed humans in this place. They all looked very real to him, and that pleased him in a way he had not felt before. Oh but it was good. 

He was not sure if the blue glow around some of them meant they were real vampires or not so he kept quiet.

Sherlock had his head next to Castiels, his breath in his ear and his curls tickling his temple. One long hand gripped Castiels black clad shoulder and the other was caressing his neck, where Dean had deliciously marked him. The caressing was making him feel strange. Kind of fizzly and warm in parts of him he knew were supposed to be for Dean. He knew he could not make love to Sherlock because Dean told him he was exclusively Deans, but his penis was telling him to get ready for sex. It was intriguing.

He lent back into Sherlocks body and tilted his head a little, to allow Sherlock easier access for that beautiful caressing. The pads of Sherlocks fingers rubbed over the cuts made by Deans teeth and his body shivered. Lovely! And it must have been working, because one of the blue glowing humans was staring at them. 

"There, detective." Castiel rumbled quietly to Sherlock.

"Which one?" Sherlock asked him, right in his ear. Castiel shivered again. That was good. So good!

"The one looking at us. The glowing one."

"Glowing....Castiel, what do you mean?" Sherlock whispered into his ear, eyes darting. He saw the tall vamper staring at them, but no glowing.

Castiel leaned his head back, lifting his chin and closing his eyes. This ecstasy was not ALL pretend.

"Mmmmm, some of the humans in here are not human." Castiel purred, pushing his bruised neck into Sherlocks hand. 

Give Sherlock his due, he did not react. But this seemed an important thing, that perhaps Castiel could have bloody mentioned before now. 

"And the ones that are not human...glow?" Sherlock asked, right into Castiels ear. 

"Blue...." Castiel offered, running his hands over the front of Sherlocks thighs. Sherlock kissed and bit lightly at Castiels ear.

"And the one staring at you like you are his next meal...is glowing blue?"

"Yes. His aura is blue." Castiel whispered, using his thumbs on Sherlocks inner thigh, right at the very top, bordering on indecently close to the detectives balls.

"I see." Sherlock said. "Any other...blue glowing people?"

"Seven others, apart from the one who is staring at us.Two by the bar, two over by the toilets, one at the front, one over by the pot plant, and one propositioning Sam."

Sherlock looked up to see a vamp girl deep in conversation with Sam Winchester. He looked like he was holding his own for now, so Sherlock turned his attention back to the man staring at them. 

There was nothing to distinguish him from any other man in the club. He was in leather, he was tall, he was pale. His eyes were a bright brown and his hair was a matching brown and shiny. Sherlock squinted and he could not see the blue glow.

Suddenly, over by Sam, was an unearthly screech. The girl who had been chatting to Sam had a face full of steaming water and Sam was dodging around her to search our Sherlock. The vamp who had been staring at Castiel whirled and bound away towards his screeching companion.

Sherlock pushed Cas behind him and scoped the whole place. Every single vamp Cas had pointed out was rushing to Sam with preternatural quickness. Sam had a stake out ready but he could not get anywhere close to protect Cas and Sherlock. Sherlock felt something nudge his hand and looked down to see Cas handing him a silver flask.

"Holy water." Cas said, and took off running. Sherlock uncorked the bottle and took off after Cas. He was aware of an inhuman howling as he ran towards Sam, hoping to scoop the man up and get out of the club before anyone was eaten.

#


	6. FURY MAKES A NEW FRIEND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury is a BAMF gentleman to a member of the public.
> 
> For Bofurlove :)

PULSE

CHAPTER 6: FURY MAKES A NEW FRIEND 

When the mass panicked exodus of people came tearing, screaming, out of the club John was up on his toes and away before Dean could even draw breath. So much for him being a follower, Dean huffed, racing after the doctors fleeing form.

Dean saw Sam explode from the club, ashing a female vamp with his stake as he tucked and rolled, coming up to his feet and running after another leather clad man. Dean could see no reason why he was chasing this particular man until he heard Castiels voice raised over the crowd.

"Sam, the one in the red shirt!" 

Sherlock burst out of the club after Cas and sprinted after the same vamp as both Cas and Sam. 

By then, John Watson was in amongst the crowd, gun held in two hands, eyes bright as a rats, searching for any sort of danger. Sherlock was the main person he needed to protect, but when it came to general citizens at risk, the man knew his duty. His army brain kicked in, he shook slightly, straightened, and Fury took control of TheBody.

Dean did not notice the change, he was too busy searching out vamps with which to smite. He circled stupidly, having no idea who to stake or who to shoot. For some reason Sam, Sherlock and Cas knew who to chase and were doing so. This left Dean with nobody to kill, and he was getting a tad frustrated. He tucked the stake in his jacket and brought the sawn off into play. Filled with rock salt it would halt evil AND human. His bases were covered.

Fury heard rather than saw a quick scream and struggle to the side of the club. A large leather clad man, too pink to be a vamp, had bailed a girl up at knife point and was demanding her stunning purse and the contents within. Fury slit his eyes. What a fucking opportunist, taking advantage of the ensuing chaos to rob a girl at knife point! Sure, it was not as glamourous as Vamp ashing, but this girl needed help and fuck it if Fury was not itching for a throw down!

He took off running, then slowed as he got closer.

"I am not fucking giving you my purse, this was a gift from my mother!" the girl was shouting. 

"It ain't worth your life bitch!" the man growled.

"My lighter has Martin fucking Freemans autograph on it, I am NOT giving it up!"

"You heard the lady." Fury growled, pressing the barrel of his gun to the skin behind the knife wielders ear. "She has respectfully declined to pass over her purse."

The man dropped the knife and put his hands out in surrender.

"Hey, man, take it easy! Be cool, be cool...." he said, voice trembling.

"Jesus John!" Dean puffed behind the doctor, sawn off facing down to the pavement. "I thought it was a fucking vamp!"

"It's Fury Mister Winchester." Fury said, reaching behind his back for an illegally  
pertained pair of handcuffs.

"The fuck...?" Dean said, as Fury cuffed the ex-knife welder and forced him to sit back against the wall. Fury clicked the safety off the browning, stowed it in his jacket, and also stowed the mans dropped knife. Only then he turned to the girl he had just rescued.

"You okay?"

The girl dimpled cutely.

"I am fine, thanks!" she said, then smashed the ex-bag snatcher with her jewelled purse, leaving a nasty mark and making the man grunt.

"Jesus fuck!" he cried, and Dean chuckled. 

"What, my hand slipped." the girl said, blinking innocent puppy dog eyes up at Fury and then Dean.

"Did your foot slip too?" Fury asked, and winked at the girl. It took her a second before she turned and kicked the robber very hard in the ribs with her impressive wedged boots.

"Oops, twice." she said. She fished through her bag and bought out a thick black sharpie. She rolled up Furys sleeve and wrote her phone number up his arm.

"My names Furlowe. Call me." she said, and smiled, before turning and stalking away, hair swishing in a breeze of her own making.

"Wow....." Fury said, eyes following her.

"I thought you were...Erm...gay, Doctor Watson."

"Oh John is. I'm not." Fury said.

"Uh...."

Fury turned and shook Deans hand.

"TheFuryandTheFear. Pleased to meet you. Let's go chase some vamps." Fury said, and once again, Dean found himself left behind as Fury took off running.

"I remember when all I did was gank Wendigos." Dean sighed, and followed Furys path.

#


	7. BEERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters go to the pub for alcohol.

PULSE

CHAPTER 7: BEERS

Apart from the one vamp Sam "Ganked", to use the Winchesters vernacular, all other vamps escaped. 

And so did our intrepid hunters, swished away to the pub Lestrade and John frequented every Thursday night for beers and darts, while Mycrofts men cleared Pulse and interviewed, and arrested, and did their manly Government jobs.

Dean, Fury and Sam were happy with beers, Castiel and Sherlock had a scotch and coke each.

"Glad to see you again Fury." Sherlock clapped his Alter friend on the shoulder and tried not to molest him as he was heterosexual.

"So Fury is one of Johns Alters?" Dean asked.

"I'm right here Dean." Fury said. "And yes, I am."

"And you are all Bad Ass?" Dean asked.

"Arsed. And yeah."

"And not gay." Sam added. Fury was removing his jacket as Sam said this and Sherlock got the first look at the huge black phone number up the Alters arm.

"What the actual..." Sherlock began, gripping Furys wrist. "Is that a girls' phone number Fury?"

"I pulled." Fury shrugged. "I am a very attractive man Sherlock." 

"I know, I have seen you naked."

"Not in front of the guys Sherlock!" Fury blushed, and Sherlock grinned.

"Why do you need them?" Dean asked suddenly. "The Alters. What is their purpose?"

"What do you know of Dissociative Identity Disorder?" Fury countered.

"Eh?"

"Multiple Personality Disorder." Sam helped.

"Only what I saw on 'Sybil'." Dean said, and Fury nodded. 

"That's very similar to Johns experience." Fury offered.

"Castiel can spot vampires." Sherlock said suddenly. He didn't trust Dean with Johns history. 

"Cas, what!?" Dean turned to his angel and stared into those intense blue eyes. "What does he mean?"

"I see a blue aura around vampires." Castiel explained.

"And you were going to tell us when?"

"I did not know it was any different to how you see them." Cas said, in a strangely small voice. "I am sorry, I had no idea." 

"Dude...man, this is stuff you should mention, even in passing!" Dean said, smacking his own forehead.

"I am sorry Dean." Cas said, voice rough and low.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Dean said.

"I am thinking of sucking your penis in the men's room." Castiel said, and Dean choked on his own beer. Sam guffawed and Fury joined in. Even Sherlock chuckled.

"Not THAT sort of thing!" Dean protested. 

"I most enjoyed Sherlocks hands on me in the club." Castiel added.

"Okay, stop talking." Dean said, but he snapped a look at Sherlock that screamed 'hands off'." It would have been effective had Sherlock not been txting on his phone.

"So, what created you Fury?" Sam asked. He had a better grasp on Johns condition but still had that American tendency for forthrightness. "Was it the army?"

"A tour of duty does not usually split a person into sums of his resultant parts." Fury said.

"And how much actual action does a medic see?" Dean added tactlessly. Fury raised an eyebrow.

"Depends on the war." he said. "In the World Wars medics did not join in the actual fighting. In the desert wars, we were armed and sent into battle. We had the added bonus of a big red cross for snipers to shoot at."

"Is that why you were sent home? Sniper wound?" Sam asked.

Fury sipped his beer. "Nope, John was gutted like a fish by the same man who decapitated his best friend in front of him, and gifted the bloody remnant right into Johns lap."

Dean and Sam stared at Fury. Even though he had said 'John', they knew he actually meant the body of the man drinking with them. 

"Insurgents?" Sam gulped, a bit hopefully.

"His Major." Fury answered.

"Enough." Sherlock hissed. "Enough, you idiots! You said you watched Sybil, you KNOW how dissociative tendencies happen, so what did you think, John was born like this?"

"Sherlock, it's okay, they didn't know." Fury said. 

"It's the attitude I object to Fury! All superior!" Sherlock said to Fury, then turned to the brothers. "You may have faced evil like vampires, ghouls, rugarus, ghosts, demons...all those are things you EXPECT to behave in an evil way." Sherlock said angrilly. "But what my boyfriend faced was an evil from sources not even YOU would expect, even in all your knowledge of good and evil! So..just..take it down a notch you sanctimonious, pompous AMERICANS!" 

Dean and Sam stared at the detective, surprised at his outburst. Fury put his hand on Sherlocks arm. It was trembling with suppressed anger.

"Sherlock, please, it's okay." He insisted. 

"Christ Fury, with everything John has gone through-"

"Sherlock, enough." Fury insisted, still soft voiced but insistent. "John is okay. Calm the fuck down. Everything is cool."

Sherlock looked into Furys eyes, and then nodded.

"Sorry." he said to the Winchester brothers, who both nodded.

"I am coming to the conclusion the human brain is much more special than I knew, even as an Angel of the Lord." Castiel said. "I admire how you allowed yourself safety despite the crushing terror you have endured Fury."

"Thanks Cas." fury nodded.

"Is this a kissing situation now Dean?" Castiel added then.

"No." Dean said, at the same time that Fury shook his head.

"I don't swing that way Cas mate." Fury said.

"I will wait for Flirt then." Cas announced, and Sherlock laughed.

"Join the queue." he said, under his breath.

#


	8. DEAN GETS EDUMACATED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade tells Dean all about the man who is John Watson.

PULSE

CHAPTER 8: DEAN GETS EDUMACATED

Mycroft gladly took the Hunters and Castiel in to stay in his mansion with himself and Lestrade. The place was big enough, and so much nicer than any of the hotels they had ever stayed in before. Sammy had a room to himself, overlooking the garden, and Dean and Cas were down the hall in a corner bedroom.

During the first night Dean could not sleep, despite using Castiel roughly, the way the blue-eyed ex-angel liked. Dean tossed and turned for a while, as Cas snuffled next to him, but in the end he got up and wandered, no particular place in mind but sort of heading to the kitchen.

When he got there he found a half dressed DI Lestrade poking his head in the 'fridge.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, and Lestrade jumped. He straightened up, a small buttered bun in his teeth. In the light of the 'fridge Dean saw the massive damage to Lestrades chest. It looked like the detective was a bit kinky, into scarification. 

Lestrade saw where Deans eyes were and he removed the bun from his mouth.

"Gift from a cannibal. Wanted to make me suffer." Greg said.

So, not deliberate then.

"It looks like..."

"Chang and Eng Bunker. Long long story, really yucky and violent."

"Have you thought about...getting it removed?"

"No. I have gone through enough pain. I don't need more."

"Jesus...I am really sorry dude."

"Some days I forget. I am just glad to be alive." Lestrade said, diving back to the 'fridge and bringing out a plate of cold chicken. He put it on the kitchen table and invited Dean to join him. Dean sat down across from Greg.

"What, exactly, happened?" Dean asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Ah well, it's complicated. But Sherlock discovered a clan of cannibals in Ireland. Are you familiar with the story of Sawney Bean?" Greg asked, and was both surprised and sad that Dean had, indeed, studied the historical cannibal family for a case early on in his hunting career,

"Yeah, well, Sherlock found the survivors. John ended up kidnapped by one of them and having his Alters forced out under knife point. Sherlock managed to kill the guy but his twin took umbrage at the fact that Mycroft and I essentially disposed of his family and kidnapped me as revenge."

Dean nodded. "I hear ya man, sometimes people want revenge more than is good for them."

"He carved this into me with a scalpel and no anaesthetic." Greg said, indicating the pink lined flesh picture on his chest.

"Fffuuuuuuck...." Dean winced. "Man, I am so sorry." 

"Without Mycroft and John I would have died on that table I think."

"Mycroft I understand, fuck knows what your boyfriend has at his disposal, but John? Really? He wears a sweater and is ten types of crazy, no offence." Dean said, chewing on some chicken.

"He really isn't. The man is amazing. Having survived a horror of a childhood, amazingly awful things at the hands of a cult, and the whole Afghanistan thing, he is still a gorgeous human being. He loves Sherlock fiercely, and you gotta admit, Sherlock is hard to love, but John has persisted and made him human."

"Ya got me there." Dean nodded.

"And his Alters are actually a protection device. Without them John would not be able to function."

"Why not try to smoosh all the Alters back together, make a whole person again?" Dean asked. "If that can even be done."

"It would not work with John. Early on, Sherlock tried, but it nearly tore John apart." Greg said, shuddering at the near loss of John. "John is separate personalities and that's how we love him. At least he is here, alive, and I for one am really thankful."

"He certainly has a lot of fans." Dean said. 

"Oh I am not the only one madly in love with him." Greg smiled.

"You are?" Dean asked, surprised that the detective would admit it. "How does Mycroft feel about that?" 

"Mycroft knows. He understands. And even if I was single I could never pry John from Sherlock. Mission impossible." Greg shrugged.

"So John got you away from the scalpel happy cannibal?"

"His Alter Jude did. He's a new one. Not sure if he stayed though. Obnoxious and suicidally brave French man."

"Oh, so John speaks French?"

"Not a word. Jude does though. Smokes like a chimney and has no regard for his own personal safety. He is strangely...attractive, in a 'stand back he's about to go off' sort of way."

"Just how many....Johns...are in John again?"

"Seven, not including John."

"And they all came from various traumatic events in Johns childhood?" Dean asked then.

"Mostly. He really has a well organised system."

"I have met John, Flirt and Fury. And there's Jude. Who else is there?"

"Hamish, who is the original. He creates and organises The Alters." Greg said. "He is like James Bond, confident and calm. There is SleepingJohn, who protects John when he is sleeping. Has a knife under Johns pillow for just in case."

"No sneaking up on John at night."

"Make a note of it." Leatrade suggested. "There is UnderJohn who transfers Hamishs' instructions to SleepingJohn. And the youngest is Robin, who is the manifestation of Johns twin brother Jack who was murdered by their Da when they were ten."

"Their DA...you mean Johns DAD..." Dean almost choked on a bit of chicken.

"If the man were alive today I would love to have five minutes with him in the interview room..." Lestrade said in a deadly calm and quiet voice.

"And that's when he split his personalities?"

"No, Hamish was created when John was five."

"So the abuse..."

"From birth I believe."

"Bastard!"

"Agreed." Greg nodded. "Now I know John has probably not enamoured himself to you guys yet-"

"He's not good with orders."

"Oh yeah, but neither are you, huh Dean?"

"Got me there."

"Give him a chance Dean. Even if you don't fall in love with him I know you will greatly admire him by the time this whole vamp thing has ended."

"Yeah well, I'll see." Dean said. "Do you think we could get him stop wearing sweaters?"

"More chance of the Pope becoming a single mum." Greg said.

#

In the dark of the flat at Baker Street the man put a plastic bag of bottles of sleeping pills onto the bathroom counter. He had pilfered them from the hidden spot John had put them in months before. Shirtless, in just his pyjama pants, the man rubbed his arms and considered.

If he took maybe...two bottles, if he could keep that many down. He could just...slip away. Quietly, no fuss. Nobody would have to run in and find him screaming, or bleeding. No terrible head would or chest wound. He would just look as of he was sleeping.

Someone WAS screaming though.

In his head.

JOHN WATSON DON'T YOU DARE DO THIS!

Oh but he was tired. Again. So tired.

And did The Inside Voice see how Dean Winchester looked at him, like he was completely nuts?!?

And Fury was the most socially acceptable of all his Alters, barring Hamish, who didn't pop out so much in public an more. If Dean found Fury crazy then the whole Body would be under question yes?

Maybe he could take half a bottle and just sleep for a while. Wake up refreshed and...glued back together, normal. 

I DON'T WANNA GOOOOO!!! Came a small wailing voice. I LIKE IT HERE!!! HAMISH MAKE HIM STOP!

YOU ARE AS NORMAL AS YOU ARE EVER GOING TO BE. Said Inner Voice. 

Oh great. So his normal is not normal.

The man sighed.

He was helpless.

This is who he was.

He rocked and held his middle. Tight.

Then he let go......

........allowing John to surface.

John glanced about himself, blinking like a koala in the sunlight. How had he got here? And his secret stash was out, how could he be so careless, what if Sherlock saw them?

He snatched them up in shaky hands and clutched them to his bare chest.

Christ on a cracker, that was a fucking close one!

#


	9. FRENCH KNICKERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury goes on a date. Sherlock gets jealous. Bit not good!

PULSE

CHAPTER 9: FRENCH KNICKERS

Mycroft lead Cas, Sam and Dean straight into the Baker Street flat without knocking as was his wont.

"....and you KNOW you are not too big for a spanking!" came the dulcet tones of John Watson as he walked into the lounge room, slipping a T-shirt over his head.

"Try it , Watson, and you will find your neck caved in!" 

"Boaster!" John tossed back over his shoulder. He hardly startled at all when he saw his visitors. "Sherlock, your brother is here!"

"Tell him to piss off!"

"Sherlock says hi." John said. "I would offer you tea but I have to go."

"John, I would rather you stayed." Mycroft said.

"I'll be back in the afternoon." John said, grabbing his jacket and waving to the Hunters.

"See ya." Dean said, slitting his eyes a bit. There was something a tad off about John.

#

As he descended the steps Fury breathed a sigh of relief. It was hard to act like John when he was Fury, but people mostly expected to see John so he got away with it..he had a date with a grateful purse wielder.

#

Fury was pleasantly surprised when Furlow turned up to the cafè with hand baked cookies in the shape of little knickers. She handed them over with a peck to Furys cheek.

"I like to bake." she shrugged. "And you saved my purse, AND my life!"

"How did you know I am a French Knickers man?" Fury asked, eyes twinkling.

"Good guess?" Furlow shrugged, pulling in her chair and sitting down. 

"Coffee?"

"Yes please."

Fury placed their order to the friendly waitress and then thrust his hand out.

"John." he said, feeling weird using TheBodys name but he could hardly say he was called Fury now could he? Or could he...."But you an call me Fury, it's my street and cool nick name."

"How freaky was last night?" Fulow asked, shaking Furys hand. "Someone said there were guys hunting REAL vamps."

"Weird, some people love to blur the lines huh?"

"I am just glad you were there. If I had lost my precious lighter I would have jumped off a bridge!"

"How did you get Martin Freemans autograph anyway?"

"Oh, I worked on The Hobbit." 

"Well, just toss that out there like it's nothing. Are you serious?" Fury asked, eyes bugging, impressed. Fury was a LOTRite!

"Yep. Martins' sweet. He's no vamp hunter but hey, you take what you can get...." Furlow shrugged. Fury laughed. "Why did you have a gun anyway, they are soooooo illegal."

"Possums."

"Possums?"

"Big possums..."

"Right...." Furlow nodded. "Well thank God you are out there saving us from bag snatchers AND possums. Who, by the way...don't actually live in London."

"Semantics." Fury flapped his hand as if it were no consequence.

Their coffee arrived and they sipped happily.

By the time they said their goodbyes Fury was riding high.

#

When John came aware of himself he was outside Baker street. He looked around. Usually he had someone with him but this time, no-one. Where had he been, and for how long?

As he started up the steps to the flat he pressed his lips.

Why were they all kiss swollen?

Oh fucking hell, who had Flirt been kissing NOW?

#

"Where in the hell have you been?" Sherlock demanded when John reached the lounge room. Sam, Dean and Cas were still there but Mycroft was long gone.

"I have no fucking idea."

"I KNEW it was not John that left here!" Dean said triumphantly. "Sorry dude" he said to John. "But you did not look like your normal fluffy sweatered self."

"Ah..." John said. Was all he could say really. "Tea?"

"Kettles just boiled." Sherlock said, frowning at him with eyes that saw everything. 

"So, what are we doing?" John called from the kitchen as he took down a cup and added a bag.

"We are going to smoke the nest this afternoon." Sam said.

"Surely they would not have gone back to the same place?" John said. "We well and truly broke their cover last night."

"Mycroft says they are there." Sam said.

"Creatures of habit." Dean said. "STOOPID creatures of habit."

"So, what is the plan of attack?" John brought his tea into the lounge and sat on the sofa next to Castiel. Sherlock had not taken his eyes off John. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Molotov cocktails and a pinch of love." Dean said.

"Ah. Awesome." John said, sipping his tea and avoiding Sherlocks face. "...subtle..."

"I hardly think burning down a whole warehouse is subtle John." said Castiel. "But it will certainly be effective."

#

Later, Sherlock cornered John.

"You smell like perfume and hand made biscuits John." he hissed. "Curb your Hetch Alter!"

Well...the Great Sherlock Holmes was jealous. 

Yeah...bit not good...

#


	10. YES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes!

PULSE

CHAPTER 10: YES

After it was decided they would attack at Dusk, the Hunters went downstairs to Speedy's for a bite, leaving John and Sherlock alone in their room.

Sherlock was rechecking what he needed to take with him but John was silent and still. He was disquieted with strange thoughts which were leading into his brain. He didn't know it was from one of his Alters, but the thing with the sleeping tablets had really worried him. Which Alter had got them out? Which Alter had intended to use them...and for the love of all that was holy, WHY?

"Sherlock...." John said, and Sherlock looked up. What he saw on Johns face gave him pause. He surged to his feet and grabbed Johns arms in his long fingers.

"John..what is it?" Sherlock asked. "Are you okay?"

"You....think I am normal, yeah? Or....within the bounds anyway."

"John, I adore you how you are." Sherlock said. "Why ask this now? I have never said anything different."

"It's Dean Winchesters attitude." John sighed. "He cannot help it, it's who he is, but he has seen some really bad stuff, and if he says I am weird then...well, he has a better frame of reference."

"John, it should not matter what Dean Winchester thinks."

"I know that, I do, but for some reason it has struck a nerve with me and..I think maybe one of my Alters too."

"Is that why Fury is out at cafés with strange girls?"

"No, not Fury."

"John....are you okay?" 

"Kiss me. Kiss me and let's see."

"For you,John, anything." Sherlock smiled, and gently kissed the warm lips of the man he loved. John pressed up into Sherlocks mouth, sliding his tongue into the detectives deliciously wet mouth. Sherlock deepened the kiss, letting John know how awesome he was, how much he was loved, and how much Sherlock needed him simply from this intense and loving press of mouth on mouth.

"Please Sherlock...I..." John tried to elucidate his strange new feels, but the words flew from him when Sherlock began to kiss his neck, causing lovely shivers. "God...you make me so..." even that thought he could not finish. 

Sherlock spent quite a bit of time on Johns neck and throat because he knew how much it thrilled John. Then he once again captured Johns mouth with his own, kissing him fiercely as he pushed him towards the bed.

They flopped down together and Sherlock covered Johns body with his own, pinning Johns wrists down because John loved that. Sherlock was rewarded with a lovely moan straight from Johns throat.

"Hand job, blow job, or do you want to just fuck me John?" Sherlock said, voice low and sexy. John shivered. Such choices!

"Touch me please." John murmured, and in an instant Sherlock had got Johns hard cock out of his trousers. He began to stroke it, staring straight into Johns face. John squirmed and gasped.

"You like that?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. "My hand on you?

"Yeah, I do..."

"I love doing this to you John, making you hard under my fingers."

"God, stop talking..."

"Oh no, what fun would that be? I like watching your eyes go all black with lust, wanting me, turning you into a little slut under my care."

Oh God, dirty talk from Sherlock Holmes. It went straight to the core of him, made pre-come leak, made his belly coil hotly.

"Sherlock, please.." John whispered, eyes fluttering shut as Sherlock worked his hard, hot cock. He bucked up onto Sherlocks fist. "Please, please, please..." he begged.

"Please what John?" Sherlock murmured with his voice so low it was like Sherlock was speaking straight through Johns skin. "Please harder, please softer, please stop, please marry me?"

"Oh..oh oh God...oh God, fuck Christ Sherlock yes, marry me marry me marry meeeeeee!!" John screamed as he came in great twitchy spurts of delicious creamy come...

And then there was sudden silence as John realised what he had said. It was out there, swirling in the Universe. Those two words that made up the most frightening question someone could ever ask another human.

And then the silence filled with one golden, diamond, glittering word, whispered into his ear.

"Yes."

#


	11. DIE UNDEAD SCUM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major ganking at the vampire nest.
> 
> *" and this denotes French cos I cannot do italics*"

PULSE

CHAPTER 11: DIE UNDEAD SCUM!

The lone piper playing a light dirge was a bit of a surprise. This led Sherlock to surmise that some of the vamps were perhaps Scottish.

Whatever, it was not an alarm call, it was too melodic and...eerie. Lone pipers were eerie anyway, but from inside a warehouse filled with vamps in it made it extra spooky.

"The fuck?" Dean asked, checking his home made bazooka.

"Lone Piper." John explained, hefting the machete Sam had kindly provided him with. It matched the one the younger Winchester also hefted, down to the elk bone handle.

"I hate bagpipe music!" Sam hissed.

"Well, much as I love to sit and chat, let's get started." Sherlock deadpanned. But before he could step forward Johns hand flashed out and stopped him with a press to the chest.

*"Wait...."* came the rough French of the Alter known as Jude.

*"Jude, what, why?"* Sherlock asked.

Jude hooked out a battered packet of cigarettes he had stashed in Johns jacket, lit one, left it smoking in his lips and re-hefted the machete. 

*"You faggots need me."* the Frenchman said. *"Otherwise you will be boo-hooing at the scary vampires."*

"What's with Jean Rèno?" Dean asked.

"This is Jude." Sherlock said. "He insists on going first. He also called us faggotts despite being quite gay himself."

"Ah,Frenchy," Dean spat. "this is actually what we do for a living."

Jude, did not even look at him as he puffed out smoke like a disgusting Citrön car up a slight incline.

*"Catch me if you can.*" Jude said, and took off running, screaming like an idiot and slashing the machete.

"Fucker!!!!" Dean roared and they all took off after him.

Give the foolhardy stupid mega brave Frenchman his due, he certainly took to slashing and chopping at vamps like a duck to water. First to go was the head and most of the chanter of the lone piper and his pipes. The clatter of falling bagpipes was quite loud, despite the ensuing shouting.

Dean followed Jude with an impressive display of flaming death spurting from his bazooka. Vamps caught on fire and ran into either Sherlocks stake or Sams' machete. The screaming fear was palpable, and it was all from the vamps point of view. They had not expected a full on assault at dusk, and we're now suffering for it.

Castiel took out two vamps with his silver angel sword, then leaped behind Jude to take one out that was getting a little too close to the Frenchman.

Sherlock scattered some rags with his boots, only to find it was a ragged member of the undead leaping towards him. Sam got him with a slit to the neck and Sherlock grunted his thanks.

Dean set more rags on fire, then the rubbish in the corners, and then a pair of undead who were running away from his fire-spitting weapon. They screamed high pitched screams of terror and dissolved into flames, melting to skeletons, then glowing ash and then to nothing.

Sam spun in a circle, his bloody machete in both hands. He flicked his long hair out of his eyes but could see no more dead to chop.

Sherlock did the same, his back to Sam. He also could see nothing.

Deans eyes darted into every corner, but he could not detect anything either. Just the stench of crispy vampires.

There was a scraping noise, and Castiel appeared, silver sword in one hand, struggling vampire held by the collar in the other.

"Dean, I found this cowering behind a barrel. He claims he is a vegetarian." 

The young man put up thin white hands and spoke quickly.

"My name is Oliver! Please don't kill me!" he begged.

"We have met types like him in America." Castiel said. "Vampires who live on animal blood and bags from the hospital."

"Yes, yes, that's me! They were going to kill me!" Oliver said, brown eyes flashing. "I am repulsive to them! But I can help you, I want to help you, I know what they are doing!"

Sam walked forward and pressed the bloody tip of his machete to Oliver's neck.

"Spill." he said. "And then maybe your blood won't."

"They are setting the Alpha up in Dartmoor. He moved in this week." Oliver said. "They are going to start an uprising in England, starting with the seat of Government."

"Fuck." Dean swore. "Bloody Alpha, we should have ganked him when we could!"

"An Alpha is...?" Sherlock asked.

"King of the vampires." Sam explained.

"Ah...Mycroft will want us to go to Dartmoor then. " Sherlock got his phone out to txt his brother. "Again." he added under his breath. 

"What do we do with Oliver?" Cas asked.

"Bind him with silver and we can take him with us." Sam said.

"Wait!" Sherlock said, snapping his phone shut."Where in the fuck is Jude?"

A quick scout found the machete Jude had used, scuffle and blood marks, a dropped lit cigarette, but no Jude.

Sherlock went cold and felt panic rise like bile in his throat.

#


	12. RAISE YOUR GLASS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds himself in a bit of a pickle.

PULSE

CHAPTER 12: RAISE YOUR GLASS

When John reached full awareness he felt pain, strain and a comforting warmth. Last thing he remembered was standing outside the warehouse, ready to kill some vamps.

Now he was tied down, cruciform, on a bench, shirtless, in front of a lovely log fire. He assumed he was in another nest, one the Winchesters knew nothing about, and from what he could see, it was much nicer than an abandoned warehouse. Plush, wood lined, bookshelves and a softness to the air that suggested fine carpeting.

His head hurt, but not appallingly, so he assumed he had been beaten with a blunt object until unconscious.

Looking down his body he noted that he was on an angle, feet closer to the floor than his head, and that his arms were lashed like Christ on his cross to a wooden beam. He tensed his muscles but the rope held tight. 

Interesting.

And disconcerting...

"Welcome, Doctor Watson." came a smooth voice at his side and then a tall black man slid into view. Seriously, slid, as if gliding. John choked back a laugh. 

"Jesus, can you turn to smoke and go through keyholes too?" he asked, only slightly bordering on hysteria.

The looming black man smirked a little, straightening his tie with hands that had long claw-like fingernails at the end. Mycroft would have been jealous at the cut of the suit. It fit the man perfectly. 

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Alpha.."

"How lovely for you." John snorted.

"Doctor, I would not expect you to be frightened of course. Your reputation precedes you." the vampire smiled, fangs glinting in the firelight. 

"Yeah, I'm Sherlocks terrier, he will move heaven and earth to find me, I am perfect bait, blah blah blah, BORING." John sighed.

"Oh no Doctor, it's not your detective we want." the smiling vampire said, and enjoyed the look of confusion on Johns face.

"Not Sherlock?"

"No." The vamp said, bringing an empty long stemmed crystal glass to his lips. He smiled. "The WINCHESTERS, however..."

"Ah." John said. "Whatever, it's not me though is it? It's never me."

"Don't sell yourself short Doctor." the vampire said. "If I prick you do you not bleed?"

The feel of the vamps nail pressing into his wrist made John snort a breath in and hold it. He felt his skin pop and he grunted. The blood began to trickle and the vampire collected it in the glass.

"Lovely..." the dark man said, and sipped Johns blood from the glass like it were wine.

"That's really gross." John said, as his own blood dripped onto the ground beneath his bound arm.

"You have not tried blood of lamb then." the vampire said, licking the remains of Johns blood from his pointy teeth. "It is all beefy and wooly."

"Wonderful" John said sarcastically. "So, we just wait?"

"We do. Oliver will have told them where we are by now and your friends will be popping in any time now."

"Will I be alive, or a drained husk?" John asked.

"Depends...." the vamp said, running the sharp nail from his thumb up Johns abdomen and towards his chest, almost breaking skin and making John gasp. "....on how well you behave."

"That's me fucked then."John said, and latched his teeth into the meaty part of the vampires thumb, making the undead creature of the night hiss like a demon....

#


	13. SHERLOCK SNAPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean pushes Sherlock just one time too much!

PULSE

CHAPTER 13: SHERLOCK SNAPS

"Tell me again how magical and wonderful and unicorns pooping fucking rainbows it is to have a boyfriend with so many fucking personalities!" Dean spat, unclipping his bazooka and letting it crash to the floor. "God damn it Sherlock, he's a fucking reckless looney tunes!" 

"Dean!" Sam cried, appalled at his brothers tactlessness. Sure, he was angry and frustrated, but to say that about someones significant other was just beyond awful.

The furious and terrible look of loss on Sherlocks face made Dean step back a bit, but not back down. Okay, perhaps that was a not uncalled for, but the fact was, now they were going to have to be extra careful riding in to kill the vamps because they had such gigantic leverage!

"Dean Winchester...." Sherlock began. His voice was like ice and as low and as threatening as the land that cracks before an earthquake. "John Watson on his worst day is worth three of you. So I will thank you to keep your vacuous, uninformed, and frankly STUPID opinions to yourself or you WILL find my boot in your throat."

Dean put his hands up in mock surrender.

"Woah dude, don't get your panties in a bunch-"

Sherlock rammed his fist into Deans mouth so hard the Hunter was spun around and down before he even knew what hit him. He rolled up onto his hands and knees and then sat back on his heels, blotting the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.

"I get that you don't know what it means to love someone and have someone love you back with any real feelings Mister Winchester, but do try not to bring myself or my boyfriend down to your mud crawling level and I will try not to hit you again."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore, as Castiel helped him to his feet. "Son of a BITCH!"

"Dean, loath as I am to see you hurt, I would say you deserved that smack down." Cas said, and Sam nodded.

"Leave it at this Dean." he said quietly, staring straight at Dean with desperation and determination. Dean tossed his eyes from Cas to Sam and then to Sherlock who,despite usually having a tight reign on his emotions, was panting harshly and looking at Dean with those preternatural jungle-cat eyes shooting fire. 

"Yeah..yeah okay...Sherlock, I'm sorry man..." he put his hand out. Sherlock paused and then shook it fleetingly, before turning to pick up Jude's machete.

They returned to Baker street much subdued and sat around to try and decide what cause of action to take next.

After and hour Sherlocks' phone buzzed.

PUT THIS NEXT CALL ON SPEAKERPHONE MISTER HOLMES- unknown number

Then, the phone rang.

From the tinny speakers, the screaming of John Watson was still very recognisable. 

#


	14. PHONE SUCKS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone call

PULSE

CHAPTER 14: PHONE SUCKS

~some fumbling noises~

Say hello to your boyfriend and his friends John, let him know how much you are enjoying my hospitality

~John gasps~

FUCK YOU

~a sharp slapping sound, John grunts~

John, that's just not polite. Anyone would think you didn't want to be here

Free just one of my arms you fuck and let's see how well you 

~sharp scream~

John, settle down now pet. 

OW you blood-sucking fuck

~sound of metal on metal~

You like this knife John?

It's big...you overcompensating for something

~sound of meaty punch~

~John puffs out a huge breath and moans, then tries to gasp breath in again~

~sound of another's footsteps~

Cut him Miranda

Yes Sir

~John tries to catch breath, then starts to panic~

No no please no don't do this

~John screams louder~

STOP STOP

~sound of laughter~

Lovely, look how red. Miranda, his neck

Yes Sir

NO STOP DON'T DO THIS PLEASE

~John screams and swears~

Miranda, step aside

~Johns screaming becomes wordless~

~sounds of slurping~

GOD YOU DISGUSTING FREAK GET OFF ME

~slurping continues~

STOP TOUCHING ME

~lecherous moaning and lapping sounds~

EW EW EW THAT'S JUST WRONG

~more moaning and sucking~

Christ....stop it....stop it...

~slurping~

Stop please....

~long drawn out sucking~

...no...

~soft sigh~

~wet pop~

Oops...I think I may have eaten a bit too much.

~fumbling sound, voice louder~

He doesn't have long Sherlock. Do hurry, and bring those charming Hunters with you.

~phone disconnects~

#


	15. DRIVE ON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the car to Dartmoor, Dean is surprisingly helpful.

PULSE

CHAPTER 15: DRIVE ON

Sherlock squeezed the phone so hard he nearly cut his hand. 

He whirled to the three men in his lounge room, and stared at them for a good few seconds, trying hard not to say out loud that he considered Johns predicament their fault.

Then dipped his head back to the phone. He sent out a txt, ordered them all to weapon up, and ran down to the front of the flat.

Mycroft was in Shanghai, dealing with other Minor Government Officials, but in ten minutes he had sent a rental car. The driver dropped the keys into Sherlocks hand and disappeared into the crowd.

The four men got in, and Sherlock drove. 

He drove fast. 

The Americans tried not to panic but they were not sure of Sherlocks driving ability and they were very aware they were "On the wrong side of the road".

Sherlock had one main thing on his mind. Getting to John. It was almost the only thing going on in his brilliant brain. That, and what weapons he had, what sort of deals he would have to do, what he could offer, where he could best place the Hunters, what they had as weapons, and what they knew.

"Sherlock." Dean said quietly, halfway to Dartmoor. He had called shotgun and was in the passenger seat. Behind them Sam was curled into the corner of the jeep, asleep, and Castiel was silently staring out of the window into the night.

Sherlock nodded, keeping his eyes on the head-lit road in front of him.

"I am really sorry for what I said about John." Dean went on.

"Thank you." Sherlock snapped. 

"I had no right. I don't know exactly what made John Schitzo so I had no right calling him cuckoo for co-co puffs."

"He's not Schitzo, as you so elegantly put it. He suffers from a medically recognised disorder." Sherlock said, voice still angry, mostly due to an icy fist that had gripped his heart and refused to let go.

"Sorry, yeah." Dean said, nodding. He knew he was tactless but he had no chance of refinement, the way he was brought up. He was blunt, he knew it, but he was genuinely sorry.

"He asked me to marry him." Sherlock said suddenly. He had no idea why he said it, but he had been wanting to tell someone.

"Oh, hey....that's awesome..." Dean said. He was not sure what the rules for man/man marriage was in England, but if you ask someone to marry you it must be really serious. "Did you say yes?"

"Of course I did." Sherlock said. "I AM a genius."

"Well congrats man." Dean said.

They fell into silence again. 

Sherlock gripped the wheel. 

John had better be okay. He simply could not be anything but okay. Sherlock could not think of living even one day without John beside him. In fact, he just could not. He would eat Johns gun before the first hour was over...

He refused to think any more along that line.

"If it helps, I know what you are going through." Dean said. Sherlock was about to snap, but Dean went on. "I held Sammy when he died. He died in my arms." he used his head to nod back and the large hairy man in the back corner of the car."Dude sliced him straight through the spine. He was dead almost straight away."

"Please stop talking." Sherlock said. He was not empathetic on a good day and tonight was definitely NOT a good day. Sure, he was sorry Dean had gone through that but seriously, how was this helping?

"But I got him back Sherlock, that's what I am saying." Dean said. "I made a deal with a crossroads demon but I got Sammy back."

Sherlock rumbled a growl, but Dean went on.

"I know what people will do to keep those they love safe. I have done it. And dude, I also know how tenuous life is, and how much you worry every day that something will happen again, and they will be gone AGAIN, leaving you alone...."

Sherlock swallowed. 

"And dude....that's love." Dean finished, and turned to stare out of the window, chick flick moment over.

Sherlock drove. He drove on despite his heart pounding. He drove on with his hands clamped to the wheel. 

He drove on despite the fact his eyes were so wet with tears he could not see clearly.

#


	16. THE MANOR HOUSE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunters and Sherlock arrive at the vampires Lair. 
> 
> Dean redeems himself somewhat with a very heroic gesture.

PULSE

CHPATER 16: THE MANOR HOUSE

Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers could not get warm, despite the quilt around him and the warmth of the fire in the room.

He could not move either.

He had been dumped in a corner, next to the gigantic bookshelf, and forgotten. He was dizzy through lack of blood. He could hardly focus on what the Alpha and knife-happy Miranda were discussing, not five feet away.

At least he was not in pain. The gouges and teeth marks in both his wrists and both sides of his neck were weirdly numb. Maybe because the creepy vamps rubbed their own blood on them after they fed on him. 

They also..they did..what was it...he forgot...

Firelight is pretty...

Burny...

Oooooh look, spines of books all lined up like cage bars.

They were pretty too....

"Ah, I do believe our Hunters have arrived." The Alpha said then.

"Shall we greet them?" Miranda asked.

"Let the, come to us."

John frowned. There was danger in the air, but for whom? The hunters? 

Hey..look..his toes could wriggle like tiny worms. Worms in a can. Can of worms. About to open a can of worms. Or a can of woop-ass, not arse, cos the Hunters were Yankee Doodle...Hee Hee Hee doodles!

Oh man, he felt really really Ill....

#

"There is no need for stealth Dean" Castiel said, opening the boot of the rental car and pulling out the silver chain bound Oliver. "They will have been told we were coming."

"I just like to be careful." Dean said, checking the heft of the machete that Jude had last wielded.

"Are you going to let me go?" Oliver asked hopefully.

"Considering you lied to us, no, I think not." said Sherlock, staring up at the forbidding Manor House, refusing to look at the captured vampire.

"I did not lie!" Oliver cried. Sherlock whirled and stalked over to the vampire. Even if he didn't know that vampires were effectively toothless when bound in silver, he would still have approached Oliver like this.

"You smell like meat!" Sherlock hissed. "You are NOT a vegetarian vampire."

"Oh bloody hell..." Oliver sighed, and shrugged. "Ah well, it's my nature."

Castiel kept hold of Oliver easily, but the silver was what mainly kept the vampire docile.

"Well....let's go in." Sam suggested, looking up at the manor house too. Some of the windows were lit, but it was mostly in gloom.

"Any chance you could tell us how many vamps inside?" Sam asked Oliver. Oliver shrugged again.

"Many. We ARE planning a takeover."

"oh for fucks-" Dean spat, and clipped Oliver over the back of his head. 

"OW! Oliver said, and then was dragged after Sam and Dean, Sherlock following.

The front door was invitingly open so they walked cautiously inside. No-one jumped out at them so they went in further, weapons out, eyes everywhere.

Around one corner the stench was terrible. They all put their hands over their mouths in disgust, except Oliver, who grinned. 

"Animals. Not humans." he offered, pointing at the entrails and scattered bones. 

"Ew." Sam commented.

"We are laying low for a while. People don't miss pets as much as they miss children." Oliver said.

"You really suck, you know that?" Dean commented, kicking at a dog skull.

"Pun intended?"

"Can I stake him?" Dean asked Sherlocks back. Sherlock shook his head, curls bobbing, and slid around a corner. Sam followed, and then Cas with Oliver. Dean was about to take up the rear position when he heard something in the corner.

He spun, machete in both hands. 

"Get out here!" He demanded, and from the darkness stepped...

....a tiny black kitten.

Dean reacted by instinct. He scooped the little animal up and shoved it down his front, between his flannel and his T-shirt.

"Don't look little buddy...." he whispered to the kitten, hoping he had not seen what happened to his litter mates. "Fuck me, vampires really DO suck!"

Dean had been through a lot in his lifetime, had faced horrors untold, lost friends, suffered pain, anguish, and grief, but he was fucked of he was going to leave a defenceless little kitten who weighed no more than a bit of dandelion fluff to face death by vampire.

He just could not do it.

#


	17. YEW-NIE-TID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter is weird, but all will become clear, promise...

PULSE

CHAPTER 17: COME ON YEW-NIE-TID!

The welcome the Hunters and Sherlock got was more effusive than they expected. 

"You are finally here!" The Alpha said, as they slid cautiously into the room. "And you brought Oliver, our wayward son!"

"Hi boss." Oliver waved in his limited way, bound as he was with silver.

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked, unable to see John tucked away in the corner.

"He's resting." Miranda said, using her hand to display where John was crumpled against the bookshelf as if he was a neeewwwww car!!! Come on down!

"John!" Sherlock yelled, and John flinched, rolling his eyes to try and focus on the new loud sound. Sherlock tried to go forward but the Alpha put up his long finger nailed hand in a stop gesture.

"I wouldn't," the Alpha said. "He is a few quarts down but alive. For now." 

"Wait, THAT'S John? Oh he's adorable!" Oliver cried, and Cas shook him till his fangs clacked together.

"Well, he is." Oliver pouted. "How did he taste boss?"

Sherlock growled and the Alpha signalled that Castiel should pass the wayward vampire over. 

Castiel paused. He did not, as a rule, obey vampires.

"Miranda is not a young vampire." The Alpha indicated the gorgeous blonde beside him. "She can be over to John and have him fully drained in two blinks of a humans eyes. So do be a pet and hand over Oliver."

Castiel looked over at Dean who nodded, so the ex-angel shoved the vampire from him. Oliver staggered, and was caught up by the Alpha. Skin sizzled as it touched the silver and the Alpha hissed, but the chains were easily felled. You did not get to be Alpha by letting a little silver burn destroy you.

"Thanks boss." Oliver said, shaking his shoulders to loosen them.

"You did well." Alpha nodded. "Now, gentlemen, your weapons please." 

Miranda wandered over and grabbed the machetes and stakes from the Hunters. She smelled the kitten down Deans shirt and winked at him, but ignored the animal. She wandered back with the weapons and placed them on a sideboard next to the fire.

"Thank you. Now please, sit down, let me tell you what you need to do to get John back." The Alpha stood back graciously to let the men pass.

As the four men sat on the couch, Oliver sidled over to the bookshelf where John was resting, hoping The Alpha would not notice, because really, the little sandy haired man smelled amazing, and he just wanted a tiiiiiiiiiiny lick, honest....

"You guys cleaned out nearly a whole nest of vamps. I am not happy." The Alpha said, moving to face the men on the couch.

"Yeah, we are pissed too." Dean said "We missed a couple."

"Never the less, we got John to encourage you over for a visit Dean." The Alpha said, then looked to Deans brother. "And it has been far too long Sam."

"Piss off." Sam spat, nostrils flaring, barely staying in his seat.

"And Castiel, it is also lovely to have YOU come visit, and as a blood filled human no less."

"I believe my blood is still caustic to you." Cas said, voice like gravel in a gem polisher.

"I don't think it prudent to taunt me, Castiel." The Alpha let one eyebrow rise and smiled a fangy but in-genuine smile at the ex-angel. He then turned to look at Sherlock, who was sitting pensive in the chair, fingers tented in front of his face, eyes on John, and by default, Oliver.

"And our new friend Sherlock Holmes. Tell me Sherlock, is the world a more exciting place now you know vampires are real?"

Sherlock turned his sloe-eyes up to the vampire.

"Vampires are boring." he said.

"Boring, well!" The Alpha giggled. "I have never been called boring before!"

"You have fangs, you suck blood. Boring." Sherlock shrugged.

"What did you expect?" The Alpha asked, genuinely surprised at Sherlocks attitude.

"I expected nothing, you were not real, until you were. But you have not done anything particularly remarkable."

"We stole John."

"John often gets stolen."

"We are going to overthrow your Government."

"You three? Hardly."

John suddenly made a weak squawk. All heads turned to see Oliver with John clamped helplessly to him, head craned back, teeth about to plunge into his already bruised throat.

"John!" Sherlock roared, but found himself slammed back to the chair by Miranda as The Alpha moved quicker than light. He twisted Oliver's head with a crack, and then tore it right off. Then, as the body and John hit the floor together, he kicked the head into the fire where it sizzled and then burst.

"GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLL!!!!!" The Alpha cried, and ran about a bit with both his fists up, pointer fingers to the sky, while Miranda clapped.

And then the night got REALLY weird.....

#


	18. CROWLEY, KING OF HELL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley turns up with good deeds and bad news.
> 
> HELPFUL BIT FOR NON SUPERNATURALS:
> 
> Sam is/was Lucifers chosen vessel for the Apocolypse. 
> 
> Sam said yes to save the world. 
> 
> Castiel pulled Sam out of the cage and left Lucifer behind to fight with Michael the arch angel who was SUPPOSED to have Dean as his vessell but ended up taking Adam Winchester (the half brother).
> 
> Sam cannot be Lucifers vessel anymore so Lucifer let his Right Hand Man Crowley know that is angling to get to use John as his vessel IF he ever gets out of the cage fight with Michael.
> 
> Simple huh:)

PULSE

CHAPTER 18: CROWLEY, KING OF HELL

From upstairs in the Manor House came the petrified screams of many vampires. Everyone in the lounge room instinctively looked up, except John and the headless and dead Oliver.

"The fuck..." The Alpha said, and dove out f the nearest window. A rat knows when to desert a sinking ship. Miranda, though, was not so fortunate. She was caught up by the neck by the dark suited stranger who strolled into the room.

"Tedious tedious tedious little vampire ants." said the man in a gravelly English voice. He then heated up his hand and Miranda basically went up in flames. As the smoke cleared the man strolled to John and lifted him, and his quilt, up, as if he were a small child. 

"What in the fuck are you doing here?" Dean spat. 

"I have had my eye on these bastards for quite some time." the man said, indicating the Manor house with one swirling finger ."And when they involved Doctor Watson, I was instructed to come get him."

"Give him to me." Sherlock said. He had stood the second the stranger had picked John up. Now, the detective held out his arms. 

"Are you sure you want him? He is irreparably damaged." the man said, lips thin but eyes dancing.

"Pass him to me." Sherlock insisted.

"He comes with a warning label."

Sherlock rolled John into his own arms, oofing as the weight of his lover hit his chest, then turned to walk from the room.

"Sherlock, wait, listen to him." Sam said, putting his arm out to stop Sherlock from leaving.

"I need to get John to hospital." Sherlock insisted.

"He said something is wrong with John."

"Another reason to get him to Hospital!"

"I suggest you listen to him too Sherlock." Castiel said. "This man would not have become involved if this were just vampires."

Sherlock looked over at the man. He tried to deduce the man but it seemed impossible, especially with the worry over John.

The man was all in black and had eyebrows that looked like two caterpillars had crawled on his face to mate. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and he had a smirk on his face that seemed permanent. 

Just an ordinary man...

Except the way he dispersed the vampires upstairs and made Miranda turn to ash under his hands did hold some sway with Sherlock, so he paused.

"You have thirty seconds." Sherlock said to him.

"Very generous of you Sherlock." The man said, with sarcasm and a smile. "When The Alpha decided to make a snack of your little doctor, he didn't just take. He also gave back. And your little doctor struggled but he was not entirely successful in keeping all the ruby from his lips."

"Are you seriously saying to me that he drank a vampires blood?" Sherlock said, voice and face flat.

"Only a tiny bit." the man said, "But a tiny bit is all it takes."

"He will become a vampire?" Sherlock asked, feeling foolish for asking but he did go through an Anne Rice stage for two weeks in 1992 before he became distracted by Proust.

"No, but you may find he has...increased abilities, precognition, be stronger, faster-"

"I need to get John home. Please shut up now." Sherlock said, and left the room hurriedly, John held to his chest.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the help. You can go now." Dean said to the man as he stared after Sherlocks retreating back.

"Dean Dean Dean, no need for the ice, princess." the man smiled. "I was merely spreading the joy around."

"Why does The King Of Hell come up here and smite Vampires to save just one man?" Sam turned and asked the man.

"Oh Sam, Doctor Watson is not JUST a man." Crowley, The King Of Hell, smiled. "Doctor Watson is the new Lynch Pin."

"NEW Lynch pin...was there an old Lynch Pin?" Sam asked.

"Of course there was, Sam. You knew him as Sam Winchester."

And then, despite all eyes on him, Crowley simply disappeared.

#


	19. GUILT AND SHAME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, John has vampire blood in him but there will be no side effects...will there?
> 
> Thanks to Bofurlove for smacking the plot bunnies into marching formation!

PULSE

CHAPTER 19: GUILT AND SHAME

Sam drove.

Dean rode shotgun with the small kitten curled in his shirt, purring cutely. Dean stroked it through the front of his top, absently.

Castiel stared out of the window silently praying. Yeah, he still prayed although he was certain God could not hear him. And never had he wished for his angel healing powers harder. He could heal John Watson with a mere laying on of hands.

Sherlock, too, was staring out of the cars window. It was hard to look at Johns face. He was pale and still, frighteningly similar to how he would look in death. He had not moved or spoken or done anything but barely breathe, and Sherlock was terrified. He had wrapped his arms around his John to share his massive warmth, but that was all he could do.

"GPS says five minutes to the Hospital Sherlock." Sam said, as the GPS blipped. Sherlock nodded to indicate he had heard, but that was it.

Then he pressed his forehead to Johns, bringing one of his hands up to cup the side of Johns face.

"Just a little bit longer John. Hold on just a little bit longer..."

#

Johns eyes were closed and rimmed in dark circles, but he looked pinker. The doctors at the hospital had run bags of blood through him to beef up the supply he lost, and he was breathing on his own. His wounds had been patched and sewn, and he was merely asleep, not comatose.

Sherlock was finally asleep too, curled like a panther in the chair beside John, using his coat as a blanket. He had not moved from Johns bedside since he had been allowed in the room, and finally exhaustion had taken him.

Mycroft Holmes looked down on his younger brother. When nobody was watching Mycroft could allow himself to appear sentimental, and as he had sent Dean, Deans new kitten, Sam and Castiel home in a town car, nobody was watching. He could look at Sherlock any way he wanted. 

Yet what he really wanted was to smash kill and destroy whomever had done this to Doctor Watson and caused Sherlock to...look like this! Exhausted and stressed and so...SMALL, like when he was just a child.

Mycroft had called on the Hunters to rid themselves of the vampire threat to his government. He had not meant for Sherlock to become involved but OF COURSE his brother could have passed for a vampire even on a good day, bringing the attention of The Hunters before Mycroft could warn them away.

But this....was beyond anything Mycroft could have predicted and it vexed the Government Official no end. The Alpha vamp had escaped but he was the only vampire left on British soil and should not take long to find, if only by the trail of animal corpses he was sure to leave behind him.

Mycroft took a blanket from the side table and gently laid it over his brother. Then he took another seat and waited for Doctor Watson to wake up. If what The Hunters told him was true, John would be a changed man when he awoke and Mycroft wanted to make sure...well, wanted to make sure that John was safe to be around his brother. Or any other humans really.

He hoped he would not have to stake John Watson.

#

Five hours later John stirred. 

Mycroft and Sherlock had been chatting quietly over disgusting hospital tea when John moaned a little and moved his hand, searching for something.

Sherlock immediately abandoned his tea and slid his hand into Johns, steadying it.

"John...." he whispered. John turned his head towards Sherlock and slowly fluttered his eyes half open. His eyes flickered over the whole of Sherlocks face and smiled a tiny smile.

"Sherlock." he croaked.

"Mycroft, call a doctor please." Sherlock said to his brother without taking his eyes off Johns face. Mycroft merely nodded and left the room.

"Sherlock, everyone...okay?"

"Yes, John yes." Sherlock smiled. Typical John, worried about everyone. "Everyone is fine."

"Where...?"

"Dartmoor."

"I want to go home."

"Of course, John, of course."

Johns eyes closed and he fell back to sleep.

Sherlock refused to let go of his hand, even when the doctor came to look him over and pronounced him okay to travel to a hospital closer to London where they had more specialised treatment.

#

John improved so much in London that after three days he was allowed to return to Baker street. It was a fast recovery but not too remarkable. Mycroft thought he was safe enough to him to be around his brother. Nothing remarkable about the doctor at all. Maybe the vampire blood had not affected John.

Mycroft became a bit hopeful.

The Hunters came over later in the week to visit. Dean dropped his new kitten (a boy they had named Nathan) off with Mrs Hudson to keep Gillespes' old cat Dudley company.

"I am two cats away from a crazy cat lady!" Mrs Hudson cooed. "Look at you!!! How sweet, yes you are, come meet your new big brother...."

Yeah, Nathan was going to be fine.

The Hunters, Cas and Sherlock caught John up to date with what had happened, leaving out the bit where John had been given vampire blood figuring it was for his own good, especially as there were no side effects yet. Perhaps never.

Mycroft and Lestrade also came over later that day. John gladly went to the kitchen to make tea, loving how normal that act was.

Lestrade wandered in too, to help and to chat. It had been a while.

"So, how are you REALLY John?" Lestrade asked.

"I am feeling remarkably well, really strong. Perhaps I needed a five day sleep?" John laughed, putting bags of tea in cups.

"We could all use a five day sleep mate!" Lestrade laughed and then clapped John companionably on the shoulder.

A solid flash of light and pain tore through Johns head.

"AH!" he snapped, putting his hand to his head. "Ah, fuck!"

"John?" Lestrade called, and his concerned voice made Sherlock and Mycroft race into the kitchen. John by then had dropped to one knee, his hand pressed to his forehead as bright flash after bright flash assaulted his brain, other hand clinging to the kitchen bench.

"Ah, fuck, FUCK!"

"John, what is it, what's wrong?" Sherlock crouched to take John in his arms but John hissed and beat him away with his fists.

"You!" he hissed, looking at Sherlock with such hate that Sherlocks heart stopped for a second. Then John turned his hate to Lestrade. "And...YOU!!!"

"What?" Sherlock asked. "What? What did we do?"

"Don't...don't you touch me!" John said, voice low and deadly. "In fact Sherlock...never touch me again you fucking bastard!"

"What did I do? John, what's the matter?"

"You...and Lestrade...right here in my flat! Did you think I would never find out?"

"John, you seem hysterical." Mycroft said, his voice flat and calm. "You are merely imagining things. Breathe, please, and try to calm down. What you are accusing Sherlock and Gregory of simply did not happen."

And then Mycroft looked to his brother and boyfriend for reassurance...

Only to see shame and guilt in the eyes of both men.

#


	20. ACCIDENTAL SHERSTRADE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a flashback to before John and Sherlock got together. What he discovers shatters his little heart to pieces. :(

PULSE

CHAPTER 20: ACCIDENTAL SHERSTRADE

SIX MONTHS AGO

"Johns working late at the clinic" Sherlock murmured, as Greg crossed the room to him. He ran his hand up Sherlocks shirt sleeve and lightly gripped the detectives upper arm.

"How is it, having a flatmate?" the DI asked, using his other hand to trail a light path over Sherlocks neck.

"Not as tiresome as I thought it would be."

"Well, he is easy on the eye. Really gorgeous."

"Don't hold back on my account. You think he is sexy as hell and you want to do him, hard, if only he were gay as you." Sherlock said, voice low and sexy despite the words he was using.

"Sherlock, how could I have anything but eyes for you?"

"Flattery, Detective? Beneath you. WAY beneath me."

"I would like you beneath me." Lestrade purred, and moved himself closer to Sherlock, his face mere inches from the consulting detective. 

Lestrade had scraped Sherlock off the pavement, set him clean, and gave him purpose. He was beautiful, and he was clever, and Sherlock owed him a great deal. Offering the Yarder use of his body seemed a very small thing he could do for him.

Sherlock turned his face and kissed Lestrades warm lips, tongue flickering out to encourage Greg to let him in. Greg opened his mouth a little, enough to let his own tongue flicker against Sherlocks. Sherlock moaned a little and leaned a little closer in, allowing Greg to embrace him. 

Greg took what was offered and took it up a notch. He kissed Sherlock hard, forcing his mouth onto the detectives, making Sherlock kiss him back with equal fervour. He gladly did, Greg was quite a good kisser.

"Bedroom...." Greg said huskily, and Sherlock took Lestrades hand to lead him to his bedroom. 

Once there Greg shoved Sherlock to the bed and covered his long lithe body with his tanned and silver one, kissing Sherlocks beautiful neck and running his hands down Sherlocks hips. Sherlock moaned at those lips on his skin, and thrust up slightly under Greg's hands.

"Lovely Sherlock." Greg murmured and Sherlock preened. He really did like flattery. But he also liked being on top.

Deftly, he flipped Greg over onto his back and attacked the detectives tanned, muscular neck with his sinfully seductive lips. Greg loved the quick flipping of roles and groaned happily as Sherlock worked his magic.

Sherlock tore open Lestrades shirt and set his mouth working on the gorgeous planes of the detectives chest, playing with his budding nipples for quite some time. Lestrade was breathing shallowly and fast, especially when Sherlock used his teeth on Lestrades sensitive nipples. And when Sherlock went lower Greg moaned so filthily Sherlock actually giggled.

Taking Gregs hard cock into this wet mouth was a dream come true for Sherlock. All those years watching Greg run the Yard, look after Sherlock, order Mycroft around like nobody had ever dared before, made that first long, wet, lovely suck delightful. The fact Greg arched himself up into Sherlocks mouth and moaned made this even sweeter.

Sherlock held the base of Greg's cock with one of his hands and bobbed his head quite vigorously up and down the whole shiny length, hollowing his cheeks at the top and using his tongue flat against the length on the downward stroke.

"Sherlock..." Greg whispered breathlessly, fingers entwined in Sherlocks hair. "Please..."

Sherlock increased his rhythm until Greg was fucking up into the younger mans throat, whimpering with every thrust. 

Finally it got too much for Greg and he shook on the precipice of coming. 

"Sherl-" he started to say, but ran out of breath as his orgasm hit. He shouted as his cock twitched and spurted in long ropes down the elegant throat wrapped around his dick.

But as he came he did not scream for Sherlock.

He screamed out Johns name. Sherlock was almost breathless with hurt and disbelief, and so un-horned he declined Gregs offer of reciprocation.

Then Sherlock smirked.

"It's John you want?" he asked.

"I am afraid so Sherlock, I'm sorry, I really am." Greg looked slightly ashamed but still had the bloom of sex on his cheeks. The bloom SHERLOCK had put there with his expert and loving...yes, LOVING, blow job.

Sherlock shrugged. Yeah, he was hurt in the feels but he was fucked if he would let Greg fucking Lestrade know how much he hurt him.

"No matter." he said, then he stared right into Gregs eyes. "Race you for him..." he said, planning to hurt Greg right back, right in his heart, right in his soul, the fucker. Nobody hurt Sherlock Holmes.

NOBODY!

Greg laughed confidently. Sure, Sherlock was pretty, but John didn't need pretty, he needed steady and trustworthy. 

In short, he needed Greg.

"You're on!"

And they both argued the terms of the bet to win over John Watson.

#


	21. BAD FEELS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is heartbreaking and I will be in my bunk ~sob~

PULSE

CHAPTER 21: BAD FEELS 

"You BET over me?" John spat. "You bet over who would GET me?"

"John, its not like that now!" Sherlock cried.

"And what did you get for winning me, Sherlock? Five pounds? Bragging rights? A trophy for your bedroom?"

"John, please listen, it WAS like that, but then it turned into something else.."

"God, Sherlock, just shut up!" John lurched to his feet. "I don't want to hear it."

"John, Sherlock and I were foolish, we were still testing each other, but it turned out different to what we though!" Lestrade tried to sooth John, failing to notice that Mycroft had backed away from his boyfriend and was looking at him at horror.

"No, Greg, *I* was the foolish one." John whirled back to face Sherlock, his eyes bright with the pain of betrayal. "God dam it Sherlock, why!" he whispered, trying to force down the lump in his throat. He clenched his fists. 

"John-"

"I trusted you. I trusted you with EVERYTHING." John whispered, and then groaned in real pain, his forehead frowning. He rubbed his fingers along the sore spot. "My childhood, the cult, Afghanistan oh Christ, all my ALTERS trusted you!"

"God, John, stop, it is still okay, I promise!"

"What good are your promises, Sherlock, when you lie so very easily." John spat at the detective. "You promise NOTHING because you can literally give me NOTHING!"

"John, no, please. Greg and I did...have sex after you moved in." Sherlock admitted, and failed to see Mycroft gasp and put his fingers to his mouth. Greg did not notice either, he only had eyes for John too. Had only EVER had eyes for John, it seemed.

"Yes, I saw quite clearly that you and Greg had sex, Sherlock, I saw the whole thing clear as day in my head. Don't ask me how, I saw it. Every last gynaecological detail, every moan, every huff, every loving kiss." John said, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. "and I heard EVERYTHING."

"It was six months ago, before I got to meet SleepingJohn!" Sherlock said.

"Oh, it was six months ago? Well that's okay then." John said, sarcastically. "Oh wait a minute...you fucking bastards BET on who would get me, you BET on who I would fall in love with, you crazy sick fucks!"

Mycroft moaned and fell against a wall, his body unable to hold himself up anymore. 

"We did, but...John, I was...I was upset..." Sherlock stumbled over his words, aware of what he was admitting but wanting to patch this up any way he could. "Greg...hurt my feelings. He wanted you, but deigned to fuck me."

"Sherlock, not true, oh my God..." Leatrade moaned, covering his face with his hands briefly then pulling them away to look at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I was in love with you at the time, I wasn't kidding. I still love you but not..like that, not like...in a sexual way."

"Greg, you didn't win, be a man!" John snapped at Leatrade. "You still got the consolation prize." he added, and waved his hand to Mycroft who had now dropped his head and was....oh Good God, the man was quietly sobbing. 

Mycroft Holmes was crying.

"Jesus Christ John, that was unnecessary." Greg said softly, and went to Mycrofts side. Mycroft put one arm out, not even looking at Greg, and pushed his boyfriend aside, shaking his head as drops of tears fell on the carpet at his feet. There was nothing to say. His heart was breaking but there was nothing he could say.

"John, please...." Sherlock begged.

"Sherlock, I am done. You cannot fix this." John whispered. "I cannot believe that everything we have gone through this last half year, all the shit and all that.." Johns voice broke "...love..it was nothing but the...the...HIGH of fucking winning me...in a BET you absolute...fucking...I have no words Sherlock, my head is hurting and my heart is...cracking...and God Sherlock, you complete and utter...I was warned, I was warned and I never believed..." Johns voice stopped. He had lost the power of speech and his eyes were spilling over with fat shiny years. He could LITERALLY hear his heart tearing apart in his chest and it hurt. It hurt!

He turned away from Sherlock and stumbled into his old room, the one he did NOT share with Sherlock. 

The door slammed.

Then, the lock turned.

Sherlock began to shake, his whole body taking on tremors unlike he had ever experienced. He barely made it to a chair before he collapsed into himself and began to sob. His brain could not grasp what had happened, and he had no idea how to fix this.

Greg, too, was left alone in the kitchen. Mycroft had taken his umbrella and walked with dignity from the flat.

Wordless, sobbing dignity.

Outside, a storm started and rain pelted from the sky.

Greg turned and left the flat silently, out into the rain which he let pelt on him, soaking him through to the bone until he began to shiver.

#

When John came out of his room he had changed his clothes. He was in sturdy jeans, boots, tight black T-shirt, hat pulled down low over his eyes and an old scruffy brown leather jacket he had picked up in Afghanistan.

And on his back was a rucksack.

"John-" Sherlock choked.

John refused to look at Sherlock, refused to notice the devastation on Sherlocks face.

"I'm leaving." he said. 

"Please don't..."Sherlock whispered, his whole body going cold and nausea roiling in his gut.

"I am not sure when...if..I will be back. Just..." John drew in a deep breath. "Get on without me Sherlock. That's all I can offer.."

Sherlock let out a terrible moan but John still would not look at him. He stood ramrod straight, all his feels squashed down deep inside where he could hear all his Alters protesting. 

He was a military man. 

He was a loner. 

He was a freak.

There was only one place he could possibly fit in.

"Goodbye...Mister Holmes." John said, and walked straight out the door, not looking back.

He almost stumbled down the stairs at the shocking howl of his name echoing from the flat above but he collected himself and just kept going.

#

He shipped out back to America with The Hunters and Castiel that night.

"Are you sure Dr Watson?" Castiel had asked.

"There is nothing here for me. I may as well do something useful with whatever remains of my life." he said, nothing showing on his face.

He didn't even look out the window as England disappeared beneath the belly of the 'plane. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and went into a sleep so deep it was as if he was comatose.

When he woke up he was in a whole other country.

#


	22. THE HOLMES BROTHERS REACT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath.
> 
> Or...
> 
> NO SHERLOCK, DON'T DO IT!!!

PULSE

CHAPTER 22: THE HOLMES BROTHERS REACT

"Mycroft...." Greg choked, dripping onto the kitchen floor of the mansion they shared. Mycroft was at the sink, staring out of the window. He barely even flinched when Greg turned up. "Mycroft, please, look at me."

Mycroft had by now got all his emotions in order. His face was clear of tears, his eyes were not red and puffy. He felt nothing but a growing contempt for Detective Inspector Lestrade. 

"Mycroft..."

Mycroft turned and faced Lestrade. His eyes were flinty but empty of any deep emotion.

"I trust what John saw was true." Mycroft said.

"As in, did it happen? Yes...."Greg shivered. Mycroft threw a towel to him and he caught it, wiping his face. "Thank you."

"I have always known you were quite enamoured with John." Mycroft said. "But to have a bet with my brother is so very low rent Detective."

"Mycroft, fuck, that's below you!" Greg said, fluffing his hair dry.

"Gregory, sentiment is for the weak. I have told myself that since I was very small." Mycroft said. "And there was a reason for this. Caring too much gets you hurt too much. I cannot afford to spend time being hurt over you. Too many people rely on me to be level-headed. I cannot...do...THIS..." Mycroft waved in Greg's general direction. "I need you to leave."

"No, dammit Mycroft, we just need to talk about this!" Greg said, an edge of desperation.

"I will not stand here to listen to your excuses." Mycroft said. "Even if I could get over the fact that you bet on a human beings feelings, I cannot forgive the fact you had sex with my brother, and neither of you saw fit to inform me."

"It was only the one time, and neither of us had you or John yet. Mycroft, please, forgive my brazen stupidity. Please. I was stupid and taken away by the idiotic challenge and trying to impress Sherlock and John. I was lonely and...did I mention I was stupid?"

"Twice." Mycroft said. "And I agree, but I am not going to allow you to stay in my personal life Gregory. We will have to maintain a working relationship. However you and I, we are over. Please, leave. I have taken the liberty of booking you for a week in a very nice London hotel."

"Mycroft, don't do this." Greg said softly. "Please. I didn't know then John was not for me, that I would fall in love with you. Mycroft...please...."

"Gregory, I have asked you to leave twice now. Don't make me ask a third time." Mycroft said, turning back to the window to stare out at the night. 

"Mycroft- "

Greg was down on the floor with his lip split before he got two steps. He stared up at Mycroft in shock. Mycroft shook his hand to release the pain from his bruised knuckles, his eyes boring into Gregs.

"Get out of my house, Gregory." he said. "I have Hunters to farewell and my brother to care for. I do not wish to see you for a very long time." he turned on his heel and left the room. 

Greg stood shakily to his feet, blotting the blood on his lips. Then he too, left the room to pack and bag and leave Mycrofts mansion. 

He did not let more tears come until he was well settled in the gorgeous hotel room overlooking the park, and he had half a bottle of whiskey in his belly.

#

Sherlock dressed warmly and went out into the night. He let his feet guide him as his brain was shut off but for a siren song, calling him to a certain bar in a certain part of town.

When he got there he was greeted like an old friend, for old friend he was. Years ago, but they had not forgotten. His copious amounts of old money was very welcome.

He went straight to the back room, reserved for the high rollers. There, he sat in a half moon dun coloured setee with other high rollers, smoking a cigar until at last his order was ready. He chose to use there because it was warm and had soft places to fall.

And fall he did. 

By three thirty two am, the same time John was flying high overhead, Sherlock was also flying high, but instead of in the belly of a plane, he was face down in the plush carpet of the club, rolling onto his elbows and knees, trying to stand, but laughing and crying at the same time, and feeling all his feels from the other side of nice, numb fence.

And then

Nothing.

#


	23. FLIRT DEALS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets up to stuff hunting Wendigos and Bad Witches in America.

PULSE

CHAPTER 23: FLIRT DEALS

Dean was not sure why he let John come with them to America to Hunt, but it was certainly one of the best decisions he had ever made. 

The man was simply incredible, and for Dean to admit that, even to himself, was nothing short of a miracle.

The first week the four of them camped in two rooms in a scuzzy hotel. It was a simple Wendigo hunt which turned out to be great for John to cut his teeth on. He was excellent at tracking and didn't baulk at the scary.

His shooting was spot on too.

"Cake walk after Afghanistan." was his dry comment.

At night he would join Dean in a whiskey, or a scotch as the crass Americans called it, watch some crap telly, which was actually not so crap for a British person new to proper crap telly, and read up on all the things that go bump in the night.

"This stuff is amazing." John said. "I had not idea this was all out here, all waiting to be hunted."

"Steady on there Daniel Boone." Dean said, but he was secretly pleased. He was not at all happy with the situation that brought John here but he was happy to have another tough hunter on the scene, a doer, not a thinker. 

Sam and Cas can do the thinking. 

He and John could do the killing. 

Perfect.

However, it was probably this sort of mad hunting and steady attitude that got John the attention of Lucifer, still fighting Michael in the cage. How does one tell someone one is the preferred Vessel of Lucifer, should the day ever come?

Simply?

One didn't. 

Or at least, Dean didn't. It was a problem for another day anyway.

Later, when John slept, he didn't have nightmares of Afghanistan. He barely dreamed at all. Sometimes Sherlocks face came to him but he tried not to dwell on it. He was where he wanted to be, doing work he needed to do.

Sometimes other hunters would come to John to be patched up, and that suited John too. Helping as well as harming, the balance was perfect.

Occasionally Fury would come out on a hunt, if the danger was notched up enough, and one time Hamish had appeared to negotiate with a particularly ornery Hunter who did not believe he needed stitches, but apart from that, the Alter activity was fairly low.

 

After the wendigo hunt they were on the road in a huge black Impala. The engine lulled John to sleep more often than not and he found himself better rested than he had been in years.

In one town they found a pub filled with people. All four went there after a hunt (Bad witches) and,even though the music was country and western, John proceeded to have a great night. He got mildly drunk, and...well, he line danced.

"I had no idea you could Billy Ray Cyrus for the ladies John!" Sam commented when John flopped down next to Dean at their booth.

The lascivious wink Sam got was definitely NOT John. 

"John can't." said Flirt. "But I can. And not for the ladies!"

"Oh hey...uh, Flirt." Sam said. "Having a great time?"

"America is THE BEST!!!" Flirt said, and snuggled into Dean.

"Oh uh hey...." Dean said, unsure of where to put his arm. He mouthed a 'sorry' to Castiel, who was looking on curiously. "Ah, Flirt..."

Flirt pressed his lips to Dean but Dean managed to pry the Alter off. He was not gay for anyone but Castiel, in fact, he was not anything but for Castiel. Castiel was the very love of his life. They shared a bed for the love of...well, Flirt seemed not to get that. He definitely had boundary issues. 

Castiel helped remind Flirt who belonged to whom by yanking Flirt from Dean, tossing him next to Sam, and taking Flirts place. Flirt did not seem to mind, and did the flirty eye thing up at Sam.

"Wanna go to bed with me, big guy?" he asked. Dean laughed at the blush that crept up Sams neck.

"Uh...Flirt...I am sure you are great..."

"I am a fantastic kisser Sam." Flirt insisted, creeping his fingers up the seam of Sams jeans. 

"Uh, no, thank you Flirt." Sam said, removing Flirts hand.

"Pft, fine then, your loss!" Flirt giggled, kissing Sam a sneaky kiss on the lips, before getting up to dance again. He was certainly the life of the line dancing party, and knew how to have a good time. Plus, he was fun to watch.

Later, though, they lost him. A search later could not find him anywhere. 

"What, will we just hope he comes back to the hotel, or do we chase him down?" Sam asked.

"He has been protecting himself for years. I think it will be safe to let him do what he has to do and come crawling back home." was Deans consensus.

"We promised Mycroft we would look after him." Sam said.

"He does not need a babysitter." Dean countered. "Look, he just broke up with someone, he has changed his whole lifestyle, and if he needs to blow off a little steam I say let him."

"But he is not John, he is Flirt, and he is not known for his self control." Sam pointed out.

"Give him this night Sam. Trust him." Dean said.

"I am with Dean on this one." Cas said. "John has been through a lot. He knows best how to protect himself. Plus, he is armed."

"Yeah, we'll, I hope he is having pervy fun, not doing anything that will bite him on the ass." Sam said.

"Unless he likes that..." Dean shrugged.

#

Flirt happily kissed the man crushing him up against the wall. Hot tongues and lips, smell of whiskey and sweat, the cowboy had the prettiest upper arms Flirt had seen in a long time.

"Suck me." he demanded and the cowboy dropped to his knees in front of Flirt, happily digging into the Alters jeans and taking the hard cock he found there deep into his mouth.

Flirt giggled happily, digging his fingers into the brickwork and thrusting into the cowboys throat.

"Oh wow!" he said, and laughed. "Oh wow, that feels fantastic!"

The cowboy grunted, and pinned Flirts hips so he could really deep throat the Alter. Flirt laughed again, this was awesome!

"God, yeah, I am liking that!" He said, closing his his eyes and smiling like a loon. His cock twitched happily against the cowboys fluttering throat and soon Flirt was moaning that he was close.

He spurt down the cowboys throat with glee, holding onto those massive shoulders. He fell back against the wall laughing.

"Thanks, wow, that was..." 

He suddenly rolled his eyes and trembled.

"Shit....shit shit shit!" he swore.

"Dude, you okay?" the cowboy asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh no...oh no!" John moaned, zipping himself back up. The fuck had Flirt done? Who in the hell was that guy? And where were Sam, Dean and Cas, his supposed back up!?

"Hey, tit for tat dude!" the cowboy whined.

"Back off!" John warned, staggering back up the alley. 

"Fucker!!!!" the cowboy swore, but John did not care. He continued up the alley feeling sick at himself for what he had done. Or rather, what Flirt had done. 

Then his phone buzzed. It was a txt.

SHERLOCK NOT COPING WELL WITH YOUR DEPARTURE. WILL YOU BE HOME SOON?-MH

Mycroft? The fuck? 

FIX YOU AND GREG BEFORE YOU EVEN COME AT ME WITH THAT CRAP!-JW

The angry txt made him feel a bit better.

Until the endorphins from a quick, anonymous, awesome blow job against a wall in a dirty alley hit and reminded him he was a bad awful human being.

#


	24. CRACKS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg, Mycroft and Sherlock are not doing so good :(

PULSE

CHAPTER 24: CRACKS

Greg Lestrade did his job.

He came early and left late. 

He did his paperwork, 

He worked overtime.

Then, when he went back to the hotel, and later, the small flat he rented, he drank until he passed out and the alarm jerked him back to consciousness in the morning to start him all over again.

He missed Mycroft. 

So much. 

It hurt every time he thought of that posh bastard and his stupid black umbrella! He had txt him in a drunken haze, many times, and Mycroft had never even once txt him back. 

Lestrade had even taken to mouthing "please forgive me" to various CCTV around London. Still nothing.

And dammit if he didn't miss John Watson. That hurt almost as much as losing Mycroft. He had not heard from Sherlock either, but he assumed the lanky idiot would be doing science, or be down the morgue assaulting bodies, or playing his violin or whatever Sherlock did to hide away from the world, licking his stupid wounds.

Git.

At least it wasn't drugs this time. He had his usual feelers out and no-one caught a wiff of any Sherlockian drug deals going down. That was at least something.

He had tried to txt John too. Once. He got nothing back. He did not try again.

So he buried himself in work. Work was always there.

#

Mycroft also buried himself in work.

He tried to take himself overseas as much as he could, though never America, so he could not only be wrapped in work but also think in a whole different language. And politics was always gunpowder treason and plot, a maze to keep his genius mind busy and not think at all about..

(gorgeous, beautiful, tanned, silver fox)

Gregory Lestrade.

He, too, had his feelers out for Sherlock doing drugs but nothing. He was either using someone different or evading his big brother in other ways.

To tell the truth, Mycroft was too distracted to spend much time looking for his little brother.

#

Sherlock felt like an elephant had river danced all over his body. He groaned and tried to roll over but it must was not going to happen any time soon. So he cracked open his eyes a slit and winged in his throat.

"...sunlight....bad...."

"Oh hey sexy, you awake?"

Sherlock craned his head back. He was in a nice hotel. Face down on a rumpled bed. Only his trousers on. And staring down at him, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, was some sort of mega hunk. 

"...merhrgle...?" Sherlock asked.

"Been a while since you did coke mate?" 

"...behlingle...." Sherlock said, trying to get the saliva from his throat into his mouth.

"Gotta say, it was a really fun night, but you have to go."

"...Kay..." Sherlock once again tried to get himself going. "What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"...thanks..."

The last day he remembered was Monday, he assumed the same week. He finally got his body to sit up, and he groaned and held his head. It pounded as if it was ready to explode. He scratched at his belly. Was it always this thin? Some grains stuck to his nails and he realised it was left over cocaine.

"Yes, pretty, did it right off your belly!" the hunk said, tossing Sherlock his shirt.

"Did we fuck?" Sherlock asked.

"You gave me a spectacular hand job in the lift. Your fingers should be registered as sex toys."

Sherlock was outstandingly grateful that that was all he did. If this coke fiend was to be believed. He didn't FEEL as if he had been fucking all night, but he sure remembered this heavy, loss of memory, gotta get some more blow feeling.

He dressed slowly, had a drink of water, splashed his face and was ready to go.

The Hunk pressed him to the hotel wall and snogged him rotten, slipping a fifty pound note into the pocket of his crumpled white shirt, helping to make Sherlock feel dirtier than he already did.

Oh but that fifty could buy him a lovely big bag of crack...

#


	25. I AM DOING THE RIGHT THING, YEAH?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts having second Feels...
> 
> He squashes them with an anonymous root.

PULSE

CHAPTER 25: I AM DOING THE RIGHT THING, YEAH?

John found himself flat on his back, some sort of screaming thing on top of him, pointy teeth and long spiky tongue trying to get into his mouth, which he resolutely clamped shut. 

He used his forearms to stop the creature from getting to him, then kicked up with his boot and flipped the critter over his head. He was on his feet and slicing the beast with his super sharp machete before he could think, then leaped over the twitching body to cut the one on Castiel.

"John, here!" Sam called, as three more creatures swarmed the big guy. John took one out and Dean got the other, leaving Castiel to finish off the last one.

They all turned, circled, hands on Machetes, panting and covered in purple blood splatters. When nothing else jumped out at them they relaxed. John kicked the nearest body and laughed. 

"Whew. Remind me again why I am on this crazy ride?"

"We said it would be dangerous." Dean reminded him.

~I said dangerous, and here you are~

John shook his head. He did not need to be reminded of Sherlock right now.

"You love the Hunt John." Castiel said.

"Maybe when you get back to England you could Hunt over there." Sam said.

"Who said I was going back?"

"You serious?" Dean asked. "You really gonna leave Sherlock, after you asked him to marry you?"

"You asked him to marry you?" Sam asked, and got an almost dreamy look to his face.

"Oh, you wanna help him pick a dress Princess?" Dean said sarcastically. "I think we can pick up some Modern Brides magazines if you girls want to cut out pictures and pin 'em to ya cork board!"

"Dean, that is not helpful." Castiel said, wiping his machete on a body. "God made the sanctity of marriage a sacred ritual between two people who love each other enough to make such a commitment. It is about the ritual, not the dress."

"Yeah, well, I took it back." John said. "I would rather die alone than marry Sherlock fucking Holmes."

"Don't say that John." Sam said.

"That may come true of you stay with us." Dean warned.

"I don't care, here is where I am now. This is what I do. Sherlock...was a mistake. I won't make the same one again. My childhood taught me that. I should have fucking listened. So shut up, and let's clear this mess away."

Later that night John got terribly terribly drunk and went home with a sexy suited accountant who liked this bit of rough in a tight black T-Shirt, Military Muscles and a posh English accent. John was not drunk enough to engage in full on sex, he had no idea why, it wasn't like he needed to remain pure for anyone, say, Sherlock Holmes, the lanky bit, but he just didn't feel right.

So heavy snogging and mutual blow jobs it was.

"Fuck, you are a fantastic kisser!" Accountant Suit Man said, and Johns heart panged a little. His kisses had always driven Sherlock to distraction too. And as for his mouth on Sherlocks cock, the poor detective...

No.

No thinking about Sherlock.

He had taken Johns trust and marched all over it. He had not been so betrayed since his Da. A father should look after his children, not beat them and starve them and put them down wells...

Oh, why now memories?

He concentrated on the cock of the suited accountant, gobbling him down with more enthusiasm than he actually had. This was HIS choice, he WANTED to be here, not Flirt this time...

And still, in the morning, he felt dirty.

#


	26. DADDY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out why Mycroft and Greg worked so well.
> 
> For zhang :)

PULSE

CHAPTER 26: DADDY

Mycroft had dispensed with his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He hated to get too worked up but this boy was really misbehaving tonight.

The boy, a thirty five year old man called Duncan who was supposedly a professional submissive, was tied naked by the wrists and draped over the side of Mycrofts bed, knees on the ground and blind folded. His arse was already blushed red with hand marks from where Mycroft had spanked him, but Duncan was still being ornery.

Mycroft had a slight pang of regret for Lestrade. Greg always did everything he was told. Nobody knew just how submissive Greg allowed himself to become under Mycrofts loving hand, and nobody, not even Greg, knew how much Mycroft had needed Greg to be his property.

It was the way they had made themselves work. It had been the key to their whole relationship. It was their delicious secret. 

Mycroft was the dominant in the any relationship, and Greg, who had never known how submissive he actually was in the bedroom, had been made over by Mycrofts as his boy. 

It was lust at first smack. Mycroft and Greg worked so well together from the very first scene, Greg so relieved to have finally found what he had been looking for that he, from the very first minute,brave himself to the older man and called him "Daddy."

And oh how it made Mycroft weak at the knees to have Greg call him "Daddy."!

But that was before Mycroft found out about the bet, and Gregs dalliance with his own little brother. Who called who Daddy in that situation? The idea that Greg had found a daddy before Mycroft made Mucrofts heart have...FEELS, and they were bad feels.

Mycroft swing the wooden paddle and slapped it on the meaty arse of Duncan. Duncan wiggled his hips but made no sound. Greg, by now, would have been begging for daddy to hit him harder, faster, made him red, he had been such a naughty boy...

Mycroft reeled in his anger. He never played angry. He smacked Duncan again, harder, on the other cheek. The boy squirmed again. Mycrofts shoulders slumped. This was all...wrong.

He unclipped Duncan, took off his blindfold, and asked him to leave.

"What, what do you mean?" Duncan was confused as he got dressed.

"I don't need you tonight." Mycroft insisted, paid the man, and let him out of his house.

Mycroft poured himself a whiskey and ice, and sat dejectedly on the couch, drinking it. He....he missed Greg god damn it! He missed him so much!

And then the Universe made his phone buzz. It was a txt from Greg, but from his work mobile. No matter, it was still from Greg. Mycroft did not believe in coincidences.

FOUND SHERLOCK IN TOILET OF CRACK HOUSE WE RAIDED. AM KEEPING HIM AWAY FROM PRYING EYES FOR NOW BUT SUGGEST YOU GET HERE ASAP.-DIGL

#

Mycrofts men arrived three minutes before Mycroft himself. They stabilised Sherlock and got him out the back door and into a private ambulance. Lestrade followed the stretcher outside, inquiring as to which hospital Sherlock would be going to. When he was told he nodded, and then lit up a stale emergency cigarette that he kept in his coat for just such an occasional this.

He lent on the wall of the dilapidated and now silent house and sucked in the nicotine. He was nervous. He had not seen Mycroft for weeks. He hoped he would be okay to see him...because finding Sherlock the way he had had shaken Greg to his core. 

He had no idea Sherlock had sunk this low! However, the fact Sherlock was found in a crack house explained how he had hidden from Mycroft and Lestrade. They would never have suspected he would do such a harsh drug in such a harsh location.

"Gregory...."

Lestrade gasped in a shaky breath and turned to see Mycroft at the corner of the house. Alone. Looking at Greg in the low light of dusk. 

Greg found himself moving towards him, he could feel himself trembling and he knew he was crying. It was shock, he told himself. Shock of seeing Sherlock in such bad condition, and now shock of seeing the very love of his life, here, now....

He stopped in front of Mycroft but could not meet his eyes. In fact, he put his head right down, then fell forward, leaning his head against Mycrofts solid, trustworthy, sturdy shoulder. 

Then, through his tears he said:

"Daddy...please..."

#


	27. EARTH TO SHERLOCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he tried to die, but people who cared for him saved him AGAIN.

PULSE

CHAPTER 27: EARTH TO SHERLOCK

For Sherlock, the pain in his chest refused to go. He just could not dull it. And he tried, oh how he tried!

He tried to dull it with jobs, with corpses, with police work. But everything reminded him of John.

He tried to dull it with alcohol. He just got sick.

Cocaine was good for a while, and anonymous sex antics.

Then he knew, it was injectables he needed. He needed the hit to get into his system straight away, to calm his brain and forget the dark hole in his chest where John used to be.

Down deep he knew he was killing himself quite slowly. Pain free, but slowly. And also deep down he knew John would be so disappointed with his behaviour. But John made it clear he did not care anymore, he considered Sherlock to have betrayed him and Sherlock agreed. 

Why didn't he tell John about the whole having sex with Greg thing? Probably because....well, who wanted to know they were part of a bet? Even Sherlock knew that was a bit not good. But he should have told John about sex with Greg. Just in passing. Making it less than it was so John would not get jealous.

But he didn't. He was hoping never to have to. But then, John got his....vamp powers, and saw stuff, and Sherlock went to his dealer to stop feeling anything. Stop feeling this bad. Stop feeling...just....stop.

The house he ended up in on that last night, the one that was raided, the one where Gregory Lestrade once again found him and scraped him up, was a friend of a friend of a friends house. He had been told the gear there was awesome, and he would forget his own name.

He could not resist.

He had no idea what he looked like when the police turned up. It was lucky he barely looked like himself because that ensured he was not recognised by the hoi poloi of detectives who swarmed through the door. 

Having collapsed,insensible,in the toilet had helped too.

Lestrade had recognised him though, and, after checking to see if his corpse-like body was still breathing despite being pale and cold and thin and still with dull eyes gone to slits, he barred anyone from going in and had txt Mycroft.

When awareness finally came back to Sherlock he was clean, in a white room, in white clothes. His head was pounding and he had bandages on both his elbow crooks, and on his head too. He had apparently hurt it at some stage.

"Hello?" he called out through the open door. He sat up. The room span. He breathed in and out a few times, steadying himself. Then he swung his legs out of bed and placed his feet on the cold vinyl floor. 

"Oh hello Mister Holmes, good to see you awake." a lady in a crisp white uniform came in with a name badge (that announced her name was Crystal) and a clipboard. 

"Where am I? Why am I here?" Sherlock asked, as Crystal took his pulse.

"You are in Sundown Sanitourium, a private Government faciliity. You overdosed in a crack house dear. Your brother and his boyfriend signed you in."

"His..boyfriend...?"

"A misterrr...." she looked after clipboard. "Lestrade, Gregory Lestrade."

"oh..." Sherlock said, and his heart grew lighter. "Oh...yes..." and then he smiled, and his eyes went all watery. "That's...wonderful..."

Crystal blinked. Sherlock was not what she had been warned about at all. He seemed...placid, and....good Lord above, was he crying? 

"Is there anything you need honey?" she asked.

"John...I need John." Sherlock said, and let his tears flow.

#


	28. SECRETS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunters find out Johns special gift and what happened in England because of it.

PULSE

CHAPTER 28: SECRETS

John was resting in the back of the Impala mid morning on the way from somewhere to somewhere. Last night the four of them had rid a hotel of a nasty ghost and had not got much sleep. The beds had been comfy though, once the ghost was gone and they could catch some kip.

"How are you feeling John?" Cas asked. He had noticed John had been quite subdued in recent days but was fighting at a stronger level.

"I am good Cas, thanks." John said. "Pretty darn good actually."

"It must be the vampire blood." Cas said, looking back out the window.

"Cas!" Sam and Dean both cried from the front seat.

"Oh yes, I was not supposed to tell you." Cas said. "Do you think you could forget I said anything?" 

"Stop the car." John said, sitting up. "STOP THE SODDING CAR!!!"

Dean pulled the car over onto the gravel verge in the middle of nowhere. John threw himself out of the door and slammed it behind him. He stalked to the side of the road and kicked a bush.

Behind him, the Hunters also got out.

"I cannot believe this! " John roared at them. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Never." Dean said, but at the same time Sam said "One day."

"Well it may have been handy to know if I am going to turn into a vampire!" John exclaimed.

"No, it's not like that." Sam explained. "You would have had to have like....PINTS of vamp blood. As far as we know, you only had a few drops."

"Oh, a few drops, marvellous." John said, trying to calm down but failing so very miserably. "So I will just turn I to a bat or crave raw meat?"

"No, you will be stronger, recover faster, and see visions in your mind." Cas explained.

John stared at the ex angel. 

"Visions." John said, voice so much calmer than he felt.

"Like...precognition." Sam added.

"Or past events, that I was not privy to?" John asked, arms loose of shoulders that began to slump.

"Possibly, we really don't know." Sam said.

"John...." Dean stepped up and grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders. "What did you see?"

John sighed.

"Nothing of any importance to your Hunts." he said. "Only important enough to ruin the relationship I had built with Sherlock."

"A vision?" Sam asked.

"I didn't know I was hopped up on vamp blood at the time." John said, and rubbed his forehead with one of his hands, making Dean let him go and step back.

"What did you see?" Sam asked quietly.

"Sherlock and Lestrade doing each other in the flat." John said quietly, wincing.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry dude...." Dean said.

"I had no idea they even liked each other." Cas commented.

"They do, quite a lot, but apparently this was a one off fuck." John said.

"Were you with him then?" Sam asked.

"No. I was living with him, but we had not got together then. I didn't even know I was gay for Sherlock until I...well, WAS. Well, Flirt was. The rest of me followed." John shrugged slightly.

"Then what was the problem? You ended up with him. He's a good man." Sam asked.

"Greg had a crush on me, but was not sure I was into blokes. So Sherlock bet him he could get me first. Greg agreed."

There was silence then.

"Those bastards!" Dean exclaimed.

"I know."

"Both of them fighting over you, betting who could love you more!"

"I know."

"And then the best man winning, and you making him a better man, and him completing you. What a fucktard!"

"Wait...what?" John looked confused.

"What a pair of assholes. I cannot believe they both loved you so much they had a light hearted bet over who would get to love you for the rest of your life. What selfish selfish bastards." Dean shook his head mock sadly.

"It wasn't like that...." John protested. 

"Really, John? Really? Sherlock has done nothing but love you and admire and help you since you got together. Has he been preening and waving your underwear over his head in victory? No. He has simply loved you." Dean said softly.

"And Greg has Mycroft, so he is not pining." Sam said.

"Erm...they were there when I found out." John admitted.

"And now did Mycroft take it?"

"Not well...." John sighed. 

"So you coming with us, to America, on this Hunt, was because Sherlock had a bet on you...BEFORE you got together...and, even though you never heard him or Greg bragging, and never saw money change hands, you still got your panties in a bunch?"

John blushed and then nodded.

"Yeah...."

"You dick." was all Dean said, and went back to the car. He slid onto the drivers seat and beeped the horn. "Come on, these freaks ain't gonna gank themselves!"

"Come on John." Sam said. "Deans' an ass."

"Oh, okay..."

"He's right, but he IS an arse." Sam smiled.

"Yeah, okay, thanks-" John took a step towards the car and then pain shot through his head. "Ah!" he snapped, and his knees gave out.

"John, what is it?"

~Sherlock passed out in a toilet, drugs surging through his bloodstream~

"OW!"

~Lestrade shaking Sherlock and shouting with raw panic in his voice~

"Sherlock!"

~Sherlock strapped in an ambulance~

And then John passed right out, there on the lonely verge, thousands of miles from anywhere to do any good.

#

~incoming txt from Mycroft Holmes~

SHERLOCK IN REHAB. WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU. -MH

~incoming txt from Greg Lestrade~

MYCROFT HAS FORGIVEN ME. CAN YOU TRY TO FORGIVE SHERLOCK? HE IS TRYING SO HARD BUT HE NEEDS YOU JOHN-GL

#

The man sat in his cell, silently fuming.

He tried, he really tried, but drugs? Rehab?

Bad Sherlock!

"Oh for fooks sake!" the small black haired man crumpled his latest spy report in his fist. "Well, that's it. I'm outie."

And Jim Moriarty promptly escaped from prison to go sort his genius out. 

It was the very least he could do.

#


	29. LATE NIGHT VISITOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a midnight friend pop in.

PULSE

CHAPTER 29: LATE NIGHT VISITOR

Sherlock was in pain. The pain just would not stop. It bent his bones and twist his guts and set his eyes on fire. He shook and he grit his teeth, he sweated and he rolled in his bed. The only reason he did not call out were the sedatives. 

The very very nice sedatives.

Drug withdrawals sucked so badly. He recalled this from years ago, the last time he withdrew from an addiction almost as bad as this one.

The night was long, and he was swirling in hell. He even had hallucinations along with his pain. He called out for John, he was sure of it, but John did not come. Someone did but he didn't know who it was.

Finally, morning came. 

He was given some lovely medicinal uppers, had a shower, and went down to breakfast. Surprised, he was hungry. He had toast and tea. He even kept it down.

Later, two of his therapists came and got him. He was taken to an office and told to sit down on the couch. So he did, and the therapists sat opposite him.

"Sherlock, you are doing so much better this time than at any other time you have been in rehab." one of the therapists said.

"Yes, usually by now I have broken some nurses." Sherlock said quietly. He had not lost the URGE to break nurses, but the urge to get better and get his John back overrode any of the usual nefarious clinical carer breaking activities.

"We are concerned about you having visitors at night though. You know that is not allowed." the second therapist said.

"I've not had a visitor at night." Sherlock said. Admittedly, he was fuzzy around the edges, but he is pretty sure he would remember a visitor...wouldn't he?

"We have a transcript from your room. From last night." the first therapist said.

"I was not well last night."

"We are pretty sure you are not speaking to yourself."

"I have no memory of last night beyond the pain of withdrawal." Sherlock snapped. He was trying to be good but seriously, where did these people train, play school?

"Well, let's play the transcript for you. Perhaps you can explain what we are hearing." the second therapist said, and clicked on a tape.

TRANSCRIPT FROM ROOM OF SHERLOCK HOLMES, ROOM SIX, SUNDOWNER CLINIC

Sherlock....Sherlock...come now, wake up

~Sherlock moans, bed creaks.~

Ohhhhh you are not real, you are not here

~snicker~

Oh I am Sherlock. Can you tell me what you think you are doing here

I have been sick

You have been doing drugs! A mind like yours Sherlock, seriously

~tiny bit of struggling, Sherlock whimpers~

Please don't touch me, my skin is on fire

Sherlock, silly, it's a bracelet. It says Doubleyew Doubleyew Jay Dee. What Would John Do.

John?..my John

Aye, John, you Daft Get. You are nothing without him, and it is only you two together who can take me on. Without you as a team I may as well just go back to prison, and that is a serious waste of my time and resources.

I can take you on my own 

No you cannot Sherlock you silly little man you are nothing without John. Take it as a compliment. And also I will tell you this once. I am jealous. Envious. I have no right hand man. I may never have anyone as loyal as your John. Fix this, Sherlock. Fix thisssssss

~low hissing~

~rustling~

~kiss~

Good bye Sherlock, remember to look at your bracelet my love

Good bye Jim

~footsteps~

~door~

The therapist switched off the tape and turned to see Sherlock lifting his wrist to his eyes. Sure enough, there was a knotted bracelet tied to his wrist, blue, with gold letters WWJD.

"What would John do." Sherlock whispered, and smiled.

"Your visitor...?"

"Jim Moriarty. Don't bother to try and find him, he won't let you." Sherlock said, still staring at his bracelet. 

"We don't have any idea how he got in."

"Oh you may never do." Sherlock said. Then he suddenly stood, despite the pain and dizziness, and smiled. "Let's get me fixed and out of here."

"Well, I like this attitude Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled. Beamed. Even his eyes lit up.

"THIS.....is what John would do."

#


	30. HAMISH HAS SOME WHISKEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish needs to get John home so he enlists the help of Dean, his white satin panties fantasy, and some good Blue Label Johnny Walker.

PULSE

CHAPTER 30: HAMISH HAS SOME WHISKEY

The night pressed down on the old Hunters cabin. But it was a nice sort of pressure. The stars were billions, the trees tall and friendly, the creatures making normal creature sounds. Dean could see why Declan, one of John Winchesters old Hunting buddies', chose it out here. It was primitive, but silent.

And had a cellar stocked with Hunter Helper. The good stuff. Blue label, like Rufus had liked.

Dean had his boots up on the porch, and a glass of Helper in his hands. He leaned back in the porch chair and sighed happily. 

Little bits of quiet in a life of riot.

He chuckled at that.

The door opened and John came out. Dean had figured the other three were sleeping. The fact John was up though did not surprise him. John had not been sleeping well lately.

"Hey John, thought you were asleep. Drink?"

John shook his head, stepped over Deans legs and took a seat next to him.

"It's not John Dean. My name is Hamish." Hamish said. 

Dean looked Hamish over with his practiced eye. He was still amazed at how different all Johns Alters were. Hamish sat tall in the seat, one arm over his belly, the other hand up at his mouth, tapping his lips thoughtfully. He was staring out at the night, but then brought his eyes round to catch Deans. Hamish had serious eyes. 

"Are you the big man on campus?" Dean asked, and Hamish nodded.

"I helped John with a stubborn Hunter recently but mostly I have been riding along inside, watching." the Alter said. 

"That's creepy dude."

Hamish shrugged. "I know."

"So ah...Hamish, what can I do ya for?"

"I actually DO need your help Dean." Hamish said, keeping those militarily scary eyes on Deans.

"Yeah, I guessed that."

"We need John to go home. Back to England."

"Back to Sherlock?"

"Yes. Back to Sherlock."

"I agree with you Hamish, I do, but shouldn't this be Johns decision?"

"John is stubborn"

"That he is." Hamish snorted. "But he needs to be back there. His vamp powers are useful here, and he adores the hunt, but he is one half of a whole here. He did not ask Sherlock to marry him on a whim. He loves him, and he needs him, as surely as Sherlock loves and needs him."

"Thats lovely and all, but why are YOU telling me, not John?" Dean asked.

"That's how having disassociation works, Dean. Different strokes for different folks. I know what's best for TheBody, and sometimes John does not. He does not function as one unit enmeshed. He is.....like a bee hive. All his Alters are like drones with different jobs, but we all have one goal in mind. Keep John safe and sane. And now, his safety and sanity are tied up with Sherlock and England."

Dean nodded, and took a sip.

"So, how do we get him back there Hamish?"

Hamish smiled. "I have no idea., I was hoping we could think tank."

Dean smiled. "Jude could get him deported." he suggested, and Hamish chuckled.

"Flirt would most likely accomplish that. Lewd acts in public."

"Dude, I don't need that mental image."

"He could give Castiel some great ideas for you two."

"Cas has his own ideas. He likes me to play vampire ever since that night at the club in London."

"Oh now that is sexy!"

"Hamish, you have no idea!"

They both fell silent. Sure, they had a big thing to accomplish, but the night was so restful, and it had been a long week.

"How does the Vamp powers affect the Alters?" Dean asked. 

"They don't really. It is quite strange. TheBody is stronger of course, so thats all of us, but it is only John who has flashbacks and visions."

"Any of....you know, how he got this way? His Da? His Abuse?" Dean asked. Hamish looked at Dean for quite a while then said softly:

"None he wants to share."

Dean nodded, and sipped. He understood that. He had not shared much of the horrors that danced in his own head with anyone, not even Sam who was the other half of him, and Castiel, whom he loved with all his heart.

"My dad was fairly I tense and absent for most of my childhood." Dean said. "But always with mine and Sammy's best interest at heart, ya know?"

Hamish nodded, then gave in and poured himself a few fingers of Blue Label into a spare glass. He sipped as Dean went on.

"He could perhaps have been accused of being neglectful, but I would not have called him abusive. Maybe a bit, but nothing like Johns Da. Not the kill-a-son-in-a-well abuse." 

Dean turned to Hamish.

"How is John even alive?"

"Good luck and good Alters." Hamish smiled.

"I am beginning to see just how amazing the whole thing is. How strong John was to be able to create all of you to help him. And how strong John is to stay as same as he does. And how much of a man he is just to have got through that childhood."

"He is an amazing man." Hamish agreed.

"I can see why so many people fall in love with him." Dean added. "There's so many choices." he added, with a grin.

"Dean....are you in love with John too?" Hamish asked, twinkling his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous Hamish!" Dean snorted. Then he looked deadpan at the Alter. "Everyone knows that, until Castiel came along, I only had eyes for the ladies. So yeah, I am in love with you, ya big girls blouse!"

Hamish choked on his whiskey and guffawed.

"Oh you bastard!" he cried, wheezing and wiping the stops of whiskey from his shirt. "That was totally uncalled for!"

"You should be in my head right now. The panties you chose to dance in are white satin." Dean said, and ducked a stick thrown at his head. "But really dude, the Macarena?"

"KEEP IT DOWN OUT THERE LAUREL AND HARDY!" came Sams cranky sleepy voice from inside the cabin.

"Sorry dude, go back to sleep." Dean apologised.

"Try not to wank to Deans' fantasy me." Hamish added, and the grumpy sound of disgust made the men on the porch laugh into their hands.

"Yeah, I'm going to miss John when he goes." Dean commented, when they had calmed down.

"Yeah. He will miss you and all this too." Hamish said, staring out at the tree shadows and stars. "But Sherlock needs him."

Dean nodded.

"It's been great having him here, but yeah. Sherlock would be a shadow without him."

"So, how do we get John to forgive him?" Hamish asked.

Dean shrugged.

"How about bribery and suggested violence? 

"Stop flirting with me Dean!"

"Oh Hamish, you fuckin' wish dude!" Dean smiled, raising his glass. "You fuckin' wish."

#


	31. TASTE OF EYEBALLS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jude hears what John needs to know.

PULSE

CHAPTER 31: TASTE OF EYEBALLS

Johns last Hunt in America began and ended in New Orleans.

The Winchesters and Cas had, surprisingly, not been called to New Orleans all that much, despite it's spooky underbelly reputation. Voodoo, Hoodoo, tonton macoot from Haiti, all that stuff was pretty much regulated within the societies themselves, and nothing too run-of-the-mill ever happened there.

Until a ghost started taking the eyes from patrons of a Bourbon Street Bar.

The Hunters pulled in at sunset, settled into the hotel conveniently situated on Bourbon Street, and waited until full dark to scout the Bar. The intel they had said the ghost seemed to prefer blondes of either gender, single, dressed for a night out.

So John and Dean had spruced up, and sat in separate parts of the bar. John wore dove grey trousers and a black formal shirt, rolled up over his arms and unbuttoned one more button than was thought to be nice in decent society. His hair was slicked to the side and he was looking good. 

Dean, too, was looking good, but rougher, in jeans and a tight T-shirt.

What sort of single blonde would appeal to the ghost tonight? Because they were both very tasty looking indeed....

After an hour, a gorgeous raven haired beauty came in and sidled straight up to John, as if she was expecting him.

"Bonjour." she said. "May I buy you a drink?"

Suddenly, John lit a cigarette, and Jude was in TheBody. 

*"Depends. Are you trying to get into my knickers?"*

The girl laughed. 

*"Maybe!"*

"Take your cigarette outside!" the bartender yelled then. Jude shrugged.

*"Come, buy me a drink later."* he stood and took the girls hand, walking her briskly outside. 

Dean swore and got up to follow, even though Castiel and Sam were loitering outside as back up. There were no other single blondes in the place tonight so Dean was pretty sure Jude or he were in the ghosts sights. And perhaps this raven haired beauty was the ghost.

Once outside Jude and the girl strolled down Bourbon street. Jude was chatting in French to her and she was answering, also in French. Straight French, not the usual weird dialect Jude spoke in. She told him her name was Cassandra and he introduced himself as Jude, a tourist from France, first time in America.

Behind them Dean, Sam and Cas tried to look nonchalant while closing in on Jude and Cassandra.

When Cassandra laughed and flirtatiously pulled Jude down an alley Dean said some bad words and picked up running, followed by Sam and then a few seconds later by Castiel.

Jude was up against a wall, Cassandra pressing into him and kissing him. He did not look distressed, and still had both his eyes. 

But behind them was a mist, and that mist solidified and became human shaped.

"Jude! Down!" Sam yelled, as the apparition reached for the kissing couple. Jude reacted the instant Dean smashed into them, rolling and landing under Cassandra to protect her, Dean on top of hem both. Sam by then had fired his sawn off stuffed with rock salt and Cas was chanting in Latin.

The ghost screeched a terribly high pitched, ear splitting scream it's jaw stretching to superhuman limits, a foul stench blasting from it as it dissipated under the salt assault and then imploded with the Latin chant.

*"Holy shit! I was sent to give you a message, but I think first I need to say thank you!"* Cassandra said to Jude, who shook his head to get the screaming ringing from his ears. *"So, thank you!"*

Then she said to Dean in English, "Thank you too. I have a message..."

"Hey, no problem." Dean said, smiling cockily as he helped Cassandra to her feet. "any time. What message?"

"Uh, I meant to him...." Cassandra motioned to Jude, who was now getting to his knees.

*"How did you know where to find me?"* Jude asked.

*"I am a seer. A clairvoyant. My guide told me to look for you. She was very specific as to what you would look like. She did. not mention you would be quite so cute. Or French."*

*"Sometimes I am French, but always I am cute."* Jude said, finally on his feet and slicking his hair. He patted his shirt but his cigarettes had fallen out. Castiel surreptitiously kicked them under a dumpster, looking all innocent. *"What is the message?"*

Cassandra grabbed his hand and pressed into Jude's chest. Looking him straight inthe eye she said.

*"Go back to him. He needs you. And you need him."*

Jude nodded, then shook, eyes closing. 

Then John said:

"...and in English..?"

"Go home."

#


	32. SHERLOCK LEAVES REHAB

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is finally well and freaks Mycroft out

PULSE

CHAPTER 32: SHERLOCK LEAVES REHAB

Driving in Mycrofts town car WITH Mycroft had never before been pleasant to Sherlock, but coming back from Rehab this time was just wonderful. Sherlock had never felt so good. He was healthy, eating, drug free and positive. 

Mycroft was quite concerned.

"Don't look at me like that Mycroft, please." Sherlock smiled. "I am fine, really." he spun the WWJD bracelet around his thin wrist.

"I have never seen you work so hard in rehab Sherlock." Mycroft said.

"Are you suspicious of my motives?"

"Of course."

"My motivation is John. Getting him back."

"Well, I must remember to send him a muffin basket."

There was a slight pause.

"Mycroft...thank you." Sherlock said, voice low and sincere, looking Mycroft in the eyes.

"For what, brother dear?"

"For....everything. Thank you for everything."

"It was nothing Sherlock." 

"Hardly nothing. I appreciate it. I appreciate all you have done for me, even if it was misguided and stupid. It was mostly done with my best interests at heart, and it is nice to know you care so much for me."

"Sherlock, are you certain you are okay?" Mycroft frowned, looking very unnerved.

"Yes Mycroft. And thank you also for taking Lestrade back. He was hopeless with you gone. I assume you will resume your usual activities?" Sherlock cocked one eyebrow.

"I am sure I don't know what you mean." Mycoft sniffed.

"I am sure you do....daddy...." Sherlock grinned.

"Damn you Sherlock, you are too smart for your own good."

They pulled up at Baker Street and Sherlock insisted on going up to his flat alone. Mycroft protested but Sherlock then insisted forcefully. The fact he did not resort to personal barbs made Mycroft relent. Sherlock put his rucky on one shoulder, closed the door and waved Mycroft off.

The car disappeared around the corner and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Now, he could really try to get himself together.

The first thing he did was see Mrs Hudson, Dudley and Nathan. The tiny kitten was so big now, and Dudley was so protective, constantly grooming and batting the tiny cat around. Mrs Hudson had a million hugs for Sherlock, and tea, and scones she had just pulled from the oven.

Sherlock had a pressed flower he had made her from one of the plants at the rehab, and she was ever so touched that he had thought of her like that.

"New leaf Mrs Hudson" Sherlock laughed, and Mrs Hudson joined in.

"Well, I like this happy Sherlock. Now go upstairs love, you must be tired. Shall I bring you up any dinner?"

"No thank you Mrs Hudson, I think I will go out to eat tonight. I have a lot of thinking to do. Have to try and get John back."

"Oh sweetheart..." was all Mrs H said.

Sherlock finally extracted himself from Mrs Hudson and the cats and trotted upstairs to his flat. He closed the door, dropped the keys in a bowl and let the backpack think to the floor. He stretched happily and wandered into the Lounge room. 

"Hello Sherlock." came a soft voice and there, looking like a rough angel in a dusty leather jacket, was John Fucking Watson.

#


	33. HOMECOMING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty hot boy on boy action.

PULSE

CHAPTER:33 HOMECOMING

Sherlocks heart leaped into his throat and began to pound. It had been too long since he had seen Johns beautiful face. His sandy hair was longer, his eyes still that perfect blue, his face soft but a bit frowny round the forehead.

"Oh Christ...." Sherlock said, over the lump in his throat. "John, I missed you..."

"Mycroft said you have been Ill." John said. He slipped his jacket off and tossed it over the couch. Sherlock took this as a good sign. Maybe he was back for good?

"I was in rehab John." Sherlock admitted. He was unsure what to do. They had parted on such bad terms. And this news would not have helped make John fall back in love with him.

"Are you better now, you fucking idiot?" John asked, deadpan. There was a tiny quirk to his lips that was gone so quickly Sherlock was not sure he had seen it.

"Much better you bloody fool." he said. "How was America? Kill lots of zombies?"

"Few. How about you, stop some criminals?"

"None. Too busy chasing the dragon."

"Sherlock..." John choked. This was not going as well as he thought. He had had no idea Sherlock had gone back to drugs Mycroft was not exactly informative. And it had been hard to leave the Winchesters and Cas. Being a Hunter had been fun. He had felt like he was doing something worthwhile, and who knew how much his vamp blood powers would help him be a damn doctor and civilian?

"I am glad you are back." Sherlock said then. "Are you...staying?"

"I want to. Will you have me back?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock with eyes almost as coy as Flirts. 

Sherlock made a strange sound in his throat and strode across the room. He yanked John up into his arms and brought his mouth crashing down. John tilted his head up to meet Sherlocks onslaught and accepted the kiss gratefully, arching up to press himself to Sherlock.

The tall detective growled, and squeezed Johns hot, hard body to him. How much he had missed holding this man! It felt so good to have him in his arms again he almost fainted with longing.

John made a small sound of longing and thrust his tongue into Sherlocks throat, hands on Sherlocks head, guiding the angle he wanted his Detective at.

"Bed, please..." Sherlock moaned into Johns mouth and they broke briefly apart to stagger to the nearest bedroom, Sherlocks. John threw his boots and socks off, Sherlock toeing his own shoes off, and throwing his coat and scarf off too. John unzipped his jeans, pulled off his shirt, and slid out of his jeans and pants. Sherlock was just as naked a second later.

Sherlock used his body to push John, unresisting, onto the bed and then he rubbed his whole body on Johns, kissing him again, deeply. Delicious naked friction! 

"John, John, forgive me, I was an idiot, I am also sorry-"

"Shut up and touch me Sherlock!"

Sherlock shut up. He touched John all over with hands and skin and lips. He kissed his way down to Johns cock, taking small detours at his nipples and his stomach. Johns hips were arching up, making his cock look like it was begging for attention, which it kind of was, and who was Sherlock to ignore begging?

He lapped at the slit, tasting sweet precome, and John gasped. 

"Oh Sherlock, I have missed this, missed you..." he moaned, eyes on the curly black head at his cock. "Suck me please...your mouth, I need your mouth-"

Sherlock took Johns cock into his hot mouth, using his clever tongue to do evil things. Poor John lost the ability to breathe properly. All he could do was mewl and buck his hips until he was fucking into Sherlocks throat. He gathered handfuls of glossy curls in his fingers and held on for dear life.

"No, no, I don't want to come yet Sherlock, stop, please stop!"

With a moan, Sherlock managed to stop sucking John and slid off his hard cock. John felt his cock twitching and had to breathe through his nose to calm himself down.

"What do you want John?" Sherlock said, his voice so low with lust it made John shiver. Especially as he continued kissing Johns hip bones and stomach, lips driving John crazy.

"You, on your back, I need to fuck you Sherlock."

"oh...yes...." Sherlock agreed, and elegantly flipped over, placing himself in the middle of the bed. John straddled Sherlocks hips and spent some time looking over his lovers body. He was still as smooth and as pretty. But he could tell he had actually put a bit of weight on. He could feel meat under his fingers, instead of ribs.

"Sherlock, you are perfect, so perfect..." John whispered, running his hands all over Sherlock softly. Sherlock undulated sweetly under Johns palms.

"John...." 

Oh how his name sounded on those lips in that baritone. 

Their eyes locked and Johns heart began to pound painfully again. 

Without taking his eyes from Sherlock, John reached for the lube in the bedside table, slicked his cock up, and then used his hand to make Sherlock ready for him. The whole time Sherlock encouraged him with filthy words.

"John, inside me, please, I have missed you so much. Roughly. Take me hard, please John, make me feel every inch of you."

"Sherlock stop, I'll come if you keep...speaking!"

Sherlock tried to be quiet but he couldn't. Johns fingers were in him, slicking him up, fucking him, and his body wanted it so badly, that he moaned and begged in whispers, eyes finally fluttering closed.

"Put your hands around the behead, keep them there until I say you can move them." John ordered, as he lifted Sherlocks thighs, bending his lover in half. Sherlock instantly did as he was bid, loving the feeling of being told what to do whilst being opened up so wide for Johns use. All the lube made him deliciously wet, and his want made his cock super hard.

"John....take me, use me, please..."

"Hush Sherlock, I told you before, I could come from your voice." John held Sherlocks thighs apart and pressed the hard head of his cock to Sherlocks entrance. Sherlock lifted his hips to accept the head, making John slip inside before he was ready. He gasped and his cock twitched.

John growled. "Stop!" 

All motion stopped until John got more control. Sherlock had bitten his bottom lip to stop the noises and risked a quick look at John, only to see John staring straight at him. He moaned and, eyes locked together, John slid his whole length inside Sherlocks tight, slick hole. 

When he bottomed out, balls against Sherlocks arse, he paused, staring through Sherlocks eyes into his soul. Sherlock was panting and John was moaning, his cock twitching.

"Please please please...." Sherlock began to whisper, unaware he was begging. His colon spammed around Johns cock.

"Sherlock, I need you..." John whispered back, then growled again, and began to unceremoniously pound onto his lovers tight, wet arse. The slick wet sound was so debauched that Johns moans became grunts of arousal, the slapping of his balls keeping time to the rough thrusting of his fat cock deep inside Sherlock. 

Sherlocks fingers gripped the headboard giving him purchase to curl his hips up to every hard thrust. As a result John found himself ramming into Sherlock with more power than he ever had before. 

"Christ John fuck, oh oh no oh no please don't stop.."Sherlock was moaning, bright stars in his eyes as John hit his swollen prostate on every thrust. John dug his fingers into Sherlocks thighs and rammed even harder, gritting his teeth and grunting at a high pitch, his throat tortured closed with lust. He lost himself completely in the slick wetness around his cock until he screamed Sherlocks name and came and came and came, deep inside his Sherlock.

Sherlock spasmed up in a curl, eyes gone far away as he screamed for John, and thick ropes of come burst from the end of his cock hitting both of them on the chest.

#


	34. BREATHTAKING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John steals Sherlocks breath, Sherlock gives it right back....

PULSE

CHAPTER 34: BREATHTAKING

John was not so sure about this

"I'm not so sure about this." he said as Sherlock put the lock pick back in his Belstaff and opened the door.

"What? Mycroft invited us."

"Tonght. For dinner. Not now. For....not dinner." John waved his hand about.

"Believe me John, this is better. It it tedious waiting to be seated at Mycrofts table and-" Sherlock put his hand out and John stopped as he ran into it

"What?"

"SHHH!"

From Mycrofts bedroom came a cry and then a moan. Both Sherlock and John looked at each other, mildly worried.

But then came a more lascivious moan and then both John and Sherlock grinned like loons at each other.

"Oh Daddy, please!" came Lestrades voice, low and deep and completely sexy.

"Boy, you can do better than that!" came Mycrofts voice, and then the sound of skin on skin. Many times. John out his hand over his own mouth, and then slapped his other hand over Sherlocks'.

"Oh Daddy hurt me!"

"Quiet, boy!"

Johns eyes fluttered and he slumped against the wall, his hands dropping to his side. Then, when his eyes opened again, Sherlock pounced.

"No, Flirt, you can't!" he hissed, physically holding the Alter back as he struggled to get to Mycrofts bedroom door.

"Oh but Lockie, LISTEN! That dishy Leatrade is all sexy and submissive and....HAWT!" Flirt protested, struggling.

"Not for YOU, Flirt!" Shelock warned, and Flirt pouted.

"Only 'cos he has not seen my cock." he announced.

"No, pretty sure it's cos he's seen my brothers' cock." Sherlock said, and then shook the image from his mind, with a note to set fire to his brain with metholated spirits and a lighter later.

"Flirt, no, you are NOT to intrude!" Sherlock hissed.

"I'll scream!" Flirt whispered, and breathed in to do just that. Sherlock grabbed Flirts jaw, making the Alter go "OW!" and then Sherlock took the opportunity to kiss Flirt thoroughly and dirtily, shutting the Alter up. Well, almost. Those kissy moans were awesome, and went straight to Sherlocks cock.

"Dadddeeee!!!" came Lestrades deep cry of orgasm and Sherlock felt dirty.

Really dirty. 

Filthy. 

Sexily filthy. 

Oh good lord, was his cock hard from this?

Flirt against the wall, kissing him with his sinful mouth...the fear of getting caught....the sound of Lestrade getting lovingly beaten...

How in the hell had it come to this?

And why in the hell could he not pull off and drag Flirt away...?

#

So dinner was difficult for Sherlock that night. They had nearly been caught, but Sherlock had found a cupboard to pull Flirt into.

John found it not nearly so difficult. He had had no idea what had gone on. Sherlock had stopped molesting the Alter before Flirt or he had come so there was no real evidence but...poor Sherlock. All he could see across from the dinner table was Daddy Mycroft and Boy Lestrade making sexy sounds and...oh shit shit fuck shit, his cock stirred again. 

Damn you positive vibes, he could not go back to being impassive again, not now he had John back! So...with all the good feelings that came with hope, and love, and....FEELINGS, came the bad...the awkward stuff.

Interesting.

Well....the payoff was John. What more incentive was there than THAT to embrace life?

During dessert Sherlock took Johns hand and slipped it to his crotch. Johns eyes flew open and he squeezed reflexedly. Sherlock hitched and curled his hips, shoving his trouser clad hard cock into Johns palm. 

"Dean, Sam and Castiel sent me an email. They are doing well..." Mycroft was saying, and John nodded, face I passive as he began to rub Sherlocks cock beneath the table.

"Oh that's good." John said. 

Rubbing....

Rubbing....

Sherlocks face pinked up. He spread his thighs wider so John could cup his balls as well as rub his cock.

"Are you two officially back together?" Lestrade asked then, smiling. He could tell they were happy. Look at the colour in Sherlocks cheeks.

"Yes." Sherlock said, a bit snappily. Well, Lestrade thought, it is still early days.

"I just wanted to say John, the whole bet thing, I am sorry-" Lestrade commented.

"Forget it. I have." John smiled at Greg and he smiled back.

Sherlock made a funny sound and almost choked on the custard. He dropped the spoon as John looked over at him.

"Okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes, thank you John." Sherlock said, picking up the spoon and beginning to eat again.

Needless to say they could not wait to get home....

#

"Oh no no no!!!" John cried, face the colour of tomatoes. "Sherlock, get up!"

Sherlock did not do anything of the sort. He grinned up at John, on one knee, and flourished a small red velvet box.

"John Hamish Watson, would you do me the incredible honour of becoming my husband?" the mad git announced. 

"Oh fuck Sherlock, seriously, here?" John hissed. 

"Is that a yes?" Sherlock waggled his eyebrows encouragingly. 

Was it Johns imagination, or had the world stopped? He heard nothing, not even background noise. Everyone was waiting, holding their breath...

"Oh God yes!" John finally cried and, as Sherlock swept him up int a mighty crushing kiss, the whole of Scotland Yard cheered and whistled and threw bits of paper a them, that rained down on the couple like confetti.

#


	35. MORE PROPOSALS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked, and answered, and Greg cops a feel.

PULSE

CHAPTER 35: MORE PROPOSALS

Thursday night saw John finally back for beers with Lestrade. 

Sherlock was dreading the time alone. He was actually surprised at himself. He loved his own company but...he believed he was suffering from what was known as "Cold Feet", and left alone, he could probably....brain himself into a short circuit!

He did not want to go to the pub, John needed this time and besides, pubs were not often Sherlocks' thing.

He did not want to go to a café, he was not hungry and the insipid "conversation" he would no doubt overhear made his skin go clammy.

There was only one thing for it...and he knew as soon as he thought of it, he was turning into a whole new person. 

He had to go see Mycroft.

#

When he got to his brothers house he actually knocked. Peterson, the big bodyguard and chef, answered the door to him, and let him in with a curt:

"He is in the library."

"Of course he is." Sherlock said, and stalked to Mycrofts private library, a remnant of yesteryear, with cherrywood shelves, a green leather-topped desk that could shelter a family of refugees during the blitz, and may well have, and a lovely roaring fire.

"Sherlock, how pleasant to see you." Mycroft said, from over at a plush seat by the fire. He was swishing amber liquid in a glass and braced for the usual argument.

But....this was a different little brother now. 

"Mycroft...do you mind if I join you?" Sherlock asked, strolling over. Mycroft raised one eyebrow and nodded once. Sherlock poured himself a few fingers of whiskey and sat in the opposite chair. Mycroft was a traditionalist but some traditions were nice. THIS was nice. Chairs and fire and whiskey.

"What brings you here Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, noting the slight edge to his brother, despite the mew and improved outlook in life.

"Mycroft....what am I doing?" Sherlock whispered, staring at his shoe as he twisted it in the firelight.

"With regards to what, brother dear?"

"John." Sherlock gulped his drink. "Mycroft...how can he want me?"

"Sherlock, what on earth makes you think that man will ever want anyone but you?" Mycroft smiled, but Sherlock did not return the smile.

"I am a dunce when it comes to social norms, I have no idea how to conduct myself at gatherings, I have had an ongoing battle with a drug habit, I leave eyeballs in the microwave and I never buy the milk!"

"He knows all this. You have been this, to him, since the very first day." Mycroft said. "And he still asked you to marry him."

"I had that stupid bet with Lestrade." Sherlock moaned. "God, Mycroft, I don't deserve him!"

"Sherlock, you are a fool." Mycroft sighed, earning that old flash of anger from his darling brother. Mycroft actually smiled. He put down his glass, then removed Sherlocks drink from those long pale fingers. 

Then, he totally confused his little brother by gently grabbing both his hands.

"Sherlock, I am sorry that your early life made it hard to believe you are a warm and loveable human being." Mycroft began. "I myself, did not see it until John came it brought it out in you, but it must have been there, under the surface. The respectful way you accepted him and his Alters, the way you treat each Alter as his own person, the way you let him in to love you has my admiration." Mycroft softened his face still more, and Sherlock allowed it, only feeling the smallest bit uncomfortable.

"And John Watson, that miracle of a man in your life, is fucking lucky to have you."

"Mycroft..." Sherlock whispered, around a small lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"Sherlock." Mycroft nodded as an acknowledgement.

"One other thing." Sherlock said then, not letting Mycrofts hands go.

"Of course Sherlock. What is it?"

"Would you be my maid of honour...?"

#

Two beers in and John was grinning like a loon.

"I still cannot believe he asked you at The Yard!" Greg giggled. "That mad bloody bastard."

"I hate him and love him for it." John said, stupid smile on his face. 

"Just as fucking well you said yes." Greg added, and John snickered.

"Like I would say anything else. He is a mad git, but he loves me, all of me, all of my personalities." John said then. "And he is totally fucking AWESOME in bed."

Greg laughed out loud, and John blushed. Of course Greg knew that...

"Mate, I am so glad Sherlock found you." Lestrade said, and he honestly meant that. 

"Greg...." John said, hooking his hand around the back of Lestrades neck. "Mate, you are my best friend. So it would be unclassy of me to not ask you...to be my best man."

"What....REALLY?" 

"Yes, you dickhead."

"Oh my fucking fuck YES!"

And then Greg crushed his mouth to Johns, taking advantage of the first and only time he would ever have those delicious lips to himself.

#


	36. WILL ALL OF YOU MARRY ME?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock proposes to all of The Alters.
> 
> Thank you to a NoKnickers Gardener who gave me this idea :)

PULSE

CHAPTER:36 WILL ALL OF YOU MARRY ME?

"John, sit down please. I have a video to show you." Sherlock said, later that week.

"Is it more gay clown porn, you sick sick guppy?" John asked, calm as you please.

"No it is NOT John fucking Watson, now sit down, get comfy on the couch and stare delightedly at the screen." Sherlock said, pressing 'play' and snuggling next to his John.

The video started as a shot of their kitchen. John was sitting at the table, with his knees drawn up, smiling like a loon.

"When did you do this? I don't remember..."

"Last week. Hush."

#

~Sherlocks voice, off screen~

Robin, you know how I asked TheBody to marry him

~Robins nods enthusiastically, bringing out a matchbox tractor to drive along the kitchen table. He make vroom vroom sounds~

Well, I thought it would only be polite to ask all The Alters the same question

~Robin looks up, eyes wide and blue~

You want to know it I think it's okay to marry TheBody

Yes, Robin, please. Do I have your blessing

~Robin frowns in a deep thinky pose.~

Will you look after us, and never ever smack us

Never EVER

Will you always feed us and make us warm

Always

~Robins eyes slitted~

Will you make Chelsea FC your swornest enemies and always support Manchester United until you die

~Sherlock laughs offscreen~

If you insist

~Robin nods~

Okay then

~Tractor is driven on the table as the video fades~

#

"Oh my God, he is too adorable!" John cried. "I forgot what mad keen football fans we were."

"I have no idea who Chelsea are." Sherlock admitted.

"You hate them. Next...?"

#

The window behind SleepingJohn was bright with moonlight. He was rocking, hugging his middle, but looking at the camera.

~Sherlocks voice, from behind the camera~

Do you mind if I ask you something SleepingJohn, and could you ask UnderJohn too

~SleepingJohn waits, then nods~

I asked John to marry me and he said yes, but I want to ask you and UnderJohn too. What say you both, will you marry me

~SleepingJohn actually stops rocking, and stares straight into the camera, where Sherlock is. Then, the most amazing thing happens. He...smiles. SleepingJohn smiles!~

Yes. 

~he pauses~

He says yes too

~camera is jostled, and goes blank just after a tiny gasp is heard from Sherlock~

#

"I didn't know he could actually display a strong emotion." John said, leaning up to peck Sherlock on the side of his gorgeous lips. Sherlocks eyes were shiny.

"Me neither." was all he said.

#

~Jude squashes his cigarette out on the windowsill and flicks the butt out of the open window and down onto Baker street~

You want to ask us all the Marry you? I thought John said yes already

It is a courtesy, I think, to ask you all. Even you, as the newest Alter. You seem to be sticking around

~Jude does a Gallic shrug~

I am needed to set people straight it seems. Not everyone is a nice to John as you. Sometimes I need to call a spade a fucking tool for digging

~Sherlock chuckles~

John does need that sometimes. Do you WANT to marry me Jude

~another Gallish shrug~

But of course.

Good. But try to give up smoking. I can get you on patches

Patches are for pansies Sherlock. I am sure you understand

Prat

~screen goes blank~

#

"Try to get him on patches, my tongue is all knobbly after Jude has been using me."

"As the actress said to the Bishop."

They both snorted as the screen lit up again

#

~Hamish sits at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea in front of him~

I understand why you want to marry us, we are an awesome package

~Sherlock snorts offscreen~

That you are

I have some questions though

Ask away 

~Hamish stares straight into the camera~

I know it has been hard for you, changing into this person you are now, but it has been a fantastic change. Seriously. But I would like to know...your drug habit...under control

~camera shakes a bit~

Hamish, I will always battle my addictions. But I can say with all sincerity that my need for any sort of opiates or stimulants....lessens with every day I am with you all

~Hamish frowns.~

Good. There is only so many times John will drag you from a gutter and remain unchanged. I am sure you don't want him upset in any way

Of course not

Because you know, he has a gun, and you also know, he is not afraid to use it

~Sherlock makes the camera nod~

I know.

Then you have my blessing

~Hamish smiles, and sips his tea~

Thank you Hamish

#

"Man, he is awesome. I wanna do him."

Sherlock snorted.

"I don't blame you, that guy is HAWT!"

"Bitch."

"Jealous?"

"Envious."

"You have no need to be really. It's the Johnness in The Alters that makes me love you all."

"And that amazing sex by the fire in the cottage makes you love Hamish."

Sherlock blushed furiously. Then grinned like an idiot.

#

~Fury sits back from the kitchen table, legs jiggling and wide apart, hands inside the khaki anorak he is wearing. He is frowning slightly~

Did you have to yell at John to get me here

It's important Fury. I do apologise for the inconvenience

~Fury makes a face.~

Get on with it then

You know what I want

You want to ask my permission to marry TheBody

I do. I love John very much but I would like everyone's blessing, including yours

~Fury stares at the camera and Sherlock zooms onto Furys eyes. They are fiery with feeling, and the head attached was still trembling in time to the pent up energy making his legs jiggle~

Love him

~Furys eyes flash with the question~

Yes

~Fury pauses and Sherlock zooms out a little for a head and shoulders shot~

Then, you fucking infuriating gorgeous hunk of a fucking man, marry us, but there had better not be anything too pansy at the wedding like disco balls or butterflies or fucking froo froo swans or whatever you gays do

No swans. Got it.

~Fury glares warningly~

Doves okay

~Fury launches himself at the camera and all goes black~

#

"Did he hurt you??" John asked.

"Only in the best possible way."

#

~Flirt is draped attractively over Sherlocks bed, eyes flirting with the camera~

I am ready for my close up, Mister Holmes

~The camera wobbles to the right as Sherlock steps to the end of the bed. Flirts eyes follow, fluttering attractively.~

Flirt, stop fucking the lens

Oh I would rather be fucking you my darling

I know

Will dishy James Bond be at our wedding

We have invited him

Mmmmmm

~Flirt wriggles sexily, eyes going halfmast~

Hope he asks me to dance with him

Are you saying yes then Flirt

~Flirts eyes open a little wider and he winks into the lens~

Yes, Sherlock, I WILL marry you. Now come fuck me

~Camera is dropped to the mattress and rocked as Sherlock leaps onto Flirt. Smoochy sounds are then followed by dirty groans. The camera is knocked to the ground and screen turns black~

#

None of this was noticed by the men on the couch who were kissing deeply, lost in each other.

#


	37. UNCLE JIM HAS SOME ADVICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty tries to be helpful but just ends up being a psychopath.

PULSE

CHAPTER:37 UNCLE JIM HAS SOME ADVICE

Sherlock awoke with a metallic taste in his mouth. He screwed up his nose in distaste and opened his eyes.

Strange, he was in a car, and he distinctly remembered falling asleep wrapped around John Watson. Then he noticed his wrists were bound in front of him with black cable ties and that Jim Moriarty was seated across from him. 

So, chloroform, kidnapping, Moriatys' limousine.

"Sherlock!" Jim cried, feretty eyes all black and glittery. "Hello again! Actually, you may not remember the last time we had a chat, but I see you still have the bracelet on." 

Sherlock struggled to a sitting position. John has yet to comment on the bracelet but Sherlock loved wearing it.

"Thank you for it James." Sherlock said then, croaky. He held up his wrists. "I love it."

"I am assuming you mean the bracelet not the restraints, although I am sure you would love to be...restrained."

"I am never restrained." Sherlock said, one eyebrow up. "Is there something you wanted to say? I assume it must be quite important as you have asked me so nicely."

"Oh yes well....firstly, I found a right hand man." Jim said, motioning tO the driver. "Sebby?

The driver turned around, and waved quickly, before looking back at the road. Sherlock caught a glimpse of a handsome battle scared head and wide shoulders.

"Sebastian Moran, Sherlock Holmes." Jim said. "I have told him all about us, lover. No secrets from Sebby."

"Pleased to meet you Sebastian." said Sherlock. He shook his head. No secrets? That was not true. Sebastian would never now Moriarty.

"He is very good at...silent extraction. John didn't even stir, he is safe tucked in at Baker street." Moriarty boasted.

"Well. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. Now, take me back, there's a good fellow."

"Not before I have told you the main reason I have asked you here tonight."

"Asked?" Sherlock raised his wrists again.

"Okay, drugged, bound and kidnapped, semantics." James circled a hand, looking quickly out the window and back again. "I have come to give you some Uncley Advice."

"Uncley?"

"Yes, from wise old Uncle Jim, Sherlock."

"Well alright then." Sherlock nodded. This should be very interesting.

"Sherlock, you have a good man at home." Jim said. "He has held you together when there was barely anything there. He has made you a better man and as such, a better nemesis. And so he has also held me together, and let's face it, I am much more entertaining when I am functioning on at least some level."

Jim was suddenly over on Sherlocks side of the car. He yanked the detectives bound wrists up over his head and laid on top of him. His angry little face squished an inch from Sherlocks.

"If you fuck this up Sherlock Holmes, I will cut little bits off you with a blunt and rusty knife. Little bits,one by one, until you bleed out and die. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded calmly. 

"Calm yourself. I am not an imbecile. I know how to make this work." Sherlock assured the madman, relaxing as the cable ties bit into his wrist.

"You better. You had just fucking BETTER!!" Jim spat. "I am relying on you to keep our game going. And to prove I am not completely insensitive I will not blow up half of New Zealand on your wedding day."

"Thats very kind of you. I am sure New Zealand will be grateful."

"But after your honeymoon Sherlock, I will consider you and Johnny fair game. Take this as a friendly warning. I am not out of the game yet, and neither are you."

Then Moriarty shoved Sherlocks head to the side and roughly sucked at the detectives long pretty neck. Sherlock struggled but Jim held him down tight. He spent a good while nomming on Sherlocks neck until Sebastian growled.

"Christ Boss, leave some for John."

Jim let Sherlocks neck go and looked pleased at the wet redness he saw.

"I do like to defile pretty things. Oh look, we're here." Jim slashed the wrists ties, opened the door, and pushed Sherlock out while the car was still going. Sherlock saw the door slam as the car sped around the corner and then he was rolling along the road.

He leaped to his feet and circled around, trying to find a familiar land mark. In two seconds he realised he was right outside Speedys, so he ran up to his flat, slid in with John without waking him, and snuggled into his warm body happily.

And to fuck with James fucking Moriarty and Sebastian fucking Moran.

#


	38. YOU ARE ALL INVITED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you...your invitation has come! 
> 
> RSVP
> 
> ASAP
> 
> Dress Formal.

PULSE

CHAPTER:38 YOU ARE ALL INVITED

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MISTER SHERLOCK HOLMES

and

MISTER JOHN HAMISH WATSON

Cordially invite you to their

UPCOMING NUPTIALS

Being held on 

SUNDAY THE 21st of JULY

ceremony at Te Awa Matu Wharenui

Aetearoa 

New Zealand 

*Hungi at the Marae afterwards.*

[No gifts please, make a donation to the British Desert War Returned Service-people, Widows and Orphans fund or Cat Charity of your choice.]

DRESS FORMAL

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	39. HERE COME THE GROOMS or JOHNWEDLOCKED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! THE WEDDING! 
> 
> Oh my Goddess...
> 
> SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

PULSE

CHAPTER:39 HERE COME THE GROOMS, or JOHNWEDLOCKED

The day dawned bright with a slight brisk breeze off the ocean. July meant Winter down Under, but they had chosen New Zealand because the country had just made same sex marriage legal.

And the Watson-Holmes' wanted, and needed, to be legal.

The Māori meeting hut was adorned with white streamers and flags, with splashes of local yellow and white frangipanis, as were the lines of chairs outside. The aisle was a carpet of white silk and at the end was a simple low table, also done in white with frangipanis. The sea breeze made everything waft gently, and the Polynesian smells that came with the breeze boded very well for the day.

Guests were seated already. Everyone except Dean, Sam, and Castiel (busy with rugarus in Wisconsin) and Mrs Hudson (who could not in all good faith, leave her cats in the hands of strangers) had turned up. 

This included Sherlocks family (Mummy, her latest boyfriend, and a white haired man who was later identified as Sigursund, the mysterious older brother who kept bees.) and also Johns sister Harriet. Harry.

James Bond and Q were there, slightly in disguise, Dr Sean the therapist, Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock and Gregson of the yard, Molly and Stamford from Barts, friends from Uni and a group of Johns army buddies from Afganistan.

Over at one of the furthest aisles was Moriarty and Moran, disguised as Mormon Missionaries. Their badges said Elder Rado and Elder Fillet. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints had a firm foothold in New Zealand, having had the first Antipodean Temple and also the Missionary Training Centre. It was quite normal to see a pair of Elders everywhere, so here was no different.

At the front was a fine gay Māori celebrant called Dr TePuke, who had been more than happy to officiate at this ceremony. He wore a suit, shirt and tie on top, and a traditional Piupiu on the bottom. He had warm, smiley brown eyes a frangipani tucked behind his ear and a gap in his teeth.

Sherlock was already at the front, dressed in a midnight blue velvet suit. John had requested this, and Sherlock was not about to say no to his husband to be. He also had on a white shirt, unbuttoned, collar popped a bit, a frangipani in his button hole and his hair artfully scruffy. The wind only made it cuter as it flopped in his silver sloe eyes.

Next to him was Mycroft, in a tailored midnight blue three piece suit (not velvet). He held a blue umbrella over his head to protect his delicate skin from the bright New Zealand sun. His hair was slicked and shiny, but he had a frangipani tucked behind his ear to mark the occasion.

He lent forward and grasped Sherlocks shoulder.

"Okay brother dear?"

"Christ I am nervous Mycroft. Thank you for being here." Sherlock whispered, and put a shaking hand to Mycrofts. 

The wedding photographer managed to snap this candid shot. He was good, and gay, and New Zealandish too. This wedding was a celebration of an open minded country as well as the bonding of Sherlock and John.

A group of Māori men suddenly ran out of the hut and stood behind the low table and the celebrant. They straight away launched into an enthusiastic Haka, with scary faces and loud yelling. They were all gay too, or most of them, and were members of a New Zealand Rugby team called the All Pinks.

Then suddenly Lestrade, in his formal Police Uniform, was strolling down the silk aisle, tossing dried red rose petals from a very manly white basket. The Haka drew to a close just as Lestrade reached the traditional brides side of the aisle front. He winked at Sherlock and everyone turned, waiting for John.

A lone piper started up. The chanter and drones caught the bag and suddenly a bagpipe rendition of One Directions' What Makes You Beautiful started up. Lestrade laughed and Sherlock put his hand to his face, pink and smiling. It was the song they had first sucked each other off to, and it was wonderfully embarrassing that John had remembered.

Suddenly the song dwindled to a drone and a drum started up. Then a whole drum and pipe band marched from the hut playing Scotland The Brave. Everyone clapped their hands in time as the band reached the aisle and split in two like a river, edging the guests and coming together behind the Haka guys. 

The song finished with a thumping bass drum, there was silence, and then a lone snare drummer began to tap at marching pace.

From the hut appeared Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in his formal uniform with kilt.

Sherlock grabbed Mycrofts hand and gasped. His John, his beautiful John, had worn his army uniform to his wedding. Sherlock was delighted and surprised at the stinging in his eyes. Mycroft gripped his hand and did not let go. He found himself tearing up too, as did most of the girlier congregation. Molly was already a basket case, and this had her scrambling for a hankie.

As the drum tapped John took a moment. He tossed his head up, straightened his jacket, and began to march. 

When he got to the aisle the pipe band started up again but this time nobody clapped. All eyes were on John as he stalked manfully down the aisle, kilt swaying, eyes forward until he got to the front where he turned, faced Sherlock...and saluted, swallowing.

"John..." Sherlock whispered. Mycroft instinctively dropped his brothers hand and, as John snapped the salute down, the two grooms fell into each others arms and held on tight. Sherlock put his forehead on Johns and clasped his head with his long fingers and John kissed his nose.

"Let's get married." he said and the whole congregation cheered in a most unmannerly and impulsive way.

John and Sherlock grasped hands and faced Dr TePuke.

"How proud I am today to wed these two men, John and Sherlock." he began, his voice warm as chocolate, his accent as Kiwi as a weta bug. "Not only is this a fantastic day for these two but it is also a great day in history for all same sex couples who have always demanded the same rights as everyone else."

"Woo hoo!" cried one of the All Pinks and most of the guests laughed.

"So without further ado, let's get these guys married ey?"

There was more cheering as John and Sherlock faced each other and clasped hands.

"I believe our couple have written their own vows."

John coughed. And began.

"Sherlock..." he choked down tears. Swallowed. Continued. "Sherlock Holmes. When I first met you I thought you were the most beautiful, enigmatic, charming, rude, frustrating, wonderful human being I had ever met. Years later I still believe all those things about you, but I need to add, you are easy to love, easy to like, easy to understand because you allowed me in. 

"Without you I would be adrift and lonely. Without you I would be bored and static. Without you....Sherlock Holmes, I would be half a man."

Lestrade handed John a ring which he then put to Sherlocks left ring finger. They had discussed the fact he was a violin player and they usually wore their wedding ring on the right ring finger but Sherlock had refused to do anything as untraditional as that, and so the left ring finger it was.

"Sherlock, with this ring I thee wed. I take you for my husband with all the love in my heart and soul. I promise to be loyal and true, loving and honest, brave and steadfast, even if you occasionally leave toes in the crisper and forget the milk."

The congregation chuckled but most were nodding and saying "how true, how true."

"John Watson, I have no idea what I was before the day you limped into my lab at Saint Barts. I believe I was some sort of super genius sleuth with no social skills. But now, with you, with all of you, in my life, in my flat and in my heart, I, too, am a whole man. Thank you for being the most amazing life form on this planet and for sharing your light with me."

Mycroft passed Sherlock a ring and Sherlock slid it onto Johns left ring finger. 

"John Watson, with this ring I thee wed. I take you for my husband with all the love in my heart and soul. I promise to be loyal and true, loving and honest, brave and steadfast, even I'm your brain runs slower than mine and I have to crash tackle Flirt every time that dishy Lestrade takes his shirt off in front of you."

The laughter was tinged with tears of happiness.

Doctor TePuke stepped up and John and Sherlock faced him.

"So with the power vested in me by the Government of New Zealand and by Almighty God and or Goddess, I now pronounce you partners for life. Please, kiss your groom."

Sherlock swept John up for a precious, wonderful, deep and loving kiss and the whole crowd cheered. The Fusiliers threw their hats in the air and many many people were wiping their eyes. Lestrade squeezed John to him and shook Sherlocks hand, then hugged the detective while Mycroft shook Johns hand.

"Welcome to the family." he said, and then threw all caution, and his brolly, to the wind and crushed John to him in an almighty hug.

Then John and Sherlock were piped back down the aisle, Mycroft and Leatrade following arm in arm as the All Pinks Hakaed again.

#

The reception was an informal affair with a Polynesian hungi. No speeches were preformed, the grooms had declined, and there were no formal seating arrangements. There were lone tables, groups of chairs, and tables and chairs together, a great hole in the ground where a beast was being roasted, and a table groaning with Polynesian food. It was a buffet and open bar, and a sound system that played soft classical music.

One by one both John and Sherlock were congratulated. Mummy even introduced Sigursund to John. John could see why the bee keeper kept to himself, he was more socially awkward than Sherlock had been and in fact mummy took him, and her new boyfriend, home quite early. The man was obviously suffering but it had been fantastic that he had decided to come.

Molly spent quite some time waxing lyrical over the ceremony until Sherlock had to hug her and tell her to go get some more champagne. She gladly did so.

Johns army mates all approved of Sherlock. In fact the ones who did not approve of Sherlock, or indeed the relationship, had not come, but most of the ones who were there owed their lives to Dr John Watson and considered it an honour to be there. They lined up to shake the hand of the man who stole Three C's heart and welcome him to the army brotherhood.

Then it was time for the first dance.

They had chosen "Lanterns" by Birds of Tokyo.

 

".....In the darkness I leave 

for a place I've never seen

it's been calling out to me 

this is where I should be..."

 

Sherlock took the lead and he did not keep his eyes off John the whole time. Then the chorus started and one by one couples joined them on the make shift dance floor under a beautiful marquee until everyone was either dancing on the floor or swaying in their seats. 

 

"...On we march with a midnight song 

we will light our way with our lanterns on

On we march till we meet the dawn 

we will light our way with our lanterns on..."

 

By the time the song finished nobody doubted the singular love these men had for each other.

The next song found John swept from Sherlock by the rugged and manly arms of James Bond as Q spun in and whisked away his older brother.

"Well, John Watson, I see you are off the market." .

"Sorry to crush your delicate little heart James."

"I think I will just about cope, with a few martinis and a trip to Acapulco with a cute little raven haired beauty." James winked at Q who smiled as he whirled by with his brother.

"I think you always land on your feet James."

"Like a cat. Nice kilt by the way."

"Yours too. Grant tartan?"

"Who are you calling a tart?"

John threw back his head and laughed, squeezing James' hands. 

"You, Mister Bond." he chortled and James distracted him with a mild dip. He then brought him back up for a quick, hot, peck on the lips. 

"Congratulations John. You deserve to be happy. Sherlock and you work." he then said.

"Thanks James. We will name our first small shaky hand bag dog after you."

"You are not that gay yet John."

All of a sudden two white swans squawked and ran past, flapping their wings, feathers flying. John froze, rolled his eyes and then Fury yelled at Sherlock:

"You said no swans Sherlock Holmes!"

Harriet Watson was most discombobulated when Elder Rado dropped a plate of samosas and squealed "Firecracker!" like a fairy princess.

#


	40. HONEYMOON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honeymoon...
> 
> I am pausing my ALTER'VERSE here for a while, I have another awesome story I want to write (John and Sherlock) but then I will be back with the Alters, having adventures and stuff.
> 
> QUEENOFTHEUNIVERSE Xx

PULSE

CHAPTER 40: HONEYMOON

In the firelight of a chalét in Switzerland, naked Sherlock reached out to naked John.

"Come here Mister Watson-Holmes" he purred in a baritone made lower with sexual tension and the pure delight of his husbands naked form.

"I think you want me for nefarious purposes." John stretched like a cat, making his body long and lean, tanned skin golden in the diffused light.

"Very VERY nefarious purposes..." Sherlock slid his arms around John and licked his way over his husbands chest. "Involving melty chocolate and my very talented tongue..."

"Mmmmm." John closed his eyes. "VERY talented indeed..."

Sherlock lapped at Johns budding nipples and John shivered, so Sherlock continued up to claim Johns throat with bites and kisses. John moaned and turned his head, so Sherlock could attack his sweet spot.

"Oh yes Sherlock, right there..." he whispered, losing himself in his husbands perfect mouth. He gently grabbed a fistful of Sherlocks silky curls and softly forced his husbands mouth harder into his tender neck skin. "Harder, just a little..."

Sherlock obliged by sinking his teeth into Johns glorious neck in a series of strong, insistent bites. John moaned in pleasure, loving just how dizzy those teeth made him feel. He arched his back, forcing himself up into Sherlocks warm body. One of Sherlocks hands braced against Johns side, thumb rubbing across his nipple gently. Johns teeth chattered quickly in pleasure and once again he moaned. 

"God John, my John, so pretty, so perfect..." Sherlock whispered.

"Sherlock, shush, you voice.."

"Oh but John, I cannot help it, you are so delicious..."

"God....Sherlock..."

Sherlock gently pushed his husband down onto the chàlets fluffy honeymoon suite bed, the quilt embracing Johns naked back with a coolness that heated quickly with the increased temperature of his blood as Sherlock used that sinful mouth on him.

"Kiss me..." John whispered, and Sherlock took Johns pliant mouth in his and obliged. He used his beautiful lips and velvet tongue to slowly melt his John against the bed, boneless and in love, so in love, with his perfect husband.

As they kissed they gently rubbed against each other, silky white skin against lightly furred tan, cocks trapped and undulating against each other. Sherlock took Johns head in his elegant hands and kissed him deeper, thrusting his hips against his John until John could do nothing but thrust back, echoing his hip thrusts with his tongue into Sherlocks wet mouth. 

John parted his thighs in invitation and Sherlock moaned deep in his chest.

"John..." he choked, and his cock twitched. 

"Please Sherlock, I want you in me, please..." John begged, arching his back.

"But I would have to stop kissing you to get the lube." Sherlock whispered in complaint. "And I just don't think I can do that." he proved this by moaning again and going back to deeply kissing John.

"God Sherlock..." John whispered into his husbands gorgeous mouth. "Please?"

"Mmmnnnnnn okay...shush now..." Sherlock purred. He reached under the pillow for the lube he had handily stashed there, next to SleepingJohns knife, never breaking the gorgeous pressure of his lips on Johns. He deftly popped the cap but was then quite distracted by Johns hot mouth and lustful moans of pleasure that he quite forgot what he was doing.

John reminded him by whining and rolling his hips up, to rub his hard cock on Sherlocks hip.

Sherlock sat up as best he could, lips kiss swollen and red, eyes half lidded with lust. Johns breath was quite taken away with how sex-ruffled his extraordinary husband looked, but when Sherlock took his own cock in those elegant fingers, John forgot to breathe.

Sherlock made a soft sound deep in his throat as he gently and teasingly smeared the lube up and down his hard and veiny cock. Johns eyes widened.

"Bless us and splash us precious, that's a meaty mouthful..." he accidentally said, and Sherlock chuckled.

"Nerd..." he said lovingly, then used the left over lube on his hands to make John ready. Two fingers slipped in easily, he was so ready for it, and when Sherlock began to fuck him with them Johns eyes fluttered shut and he groaned in anticipation. Sherlock added another finger but it seemed superfluous. John was ready.

Sherlock parted Johns thighs wider, guided his twitching cock to Johns slicked and shiny hole, and eased himself in.

John moaned and used his heels against Sherlocks arse to encourage his husband to fill him NOW!

Sherlocks throat closed over as he slid his cock inside his husband, long and slow and sweet. Johns heels forcing him just made it hotter, and the way his tanned and gorgeous chest arched made Sherlocks sight grow dim for a second. 

And then Johns eyes opened and looked into his, bright blue with lust and love and promises and trust. Sherlock almost sobbed. He braced himself on his elbows, curling into Johns body, watching Johns face as he began to thrust inside.

"Oh...my God Sherlock, just like that, oh perfect perfect..."

Sherlock increased his pace, adding a little snap and roll to his hips so he could rub at Johns swollen and desperate prostate. John screamed a little, and then thrust up to meet each snap, words beyond him now.

Sherlock wanted to kiss John, but he also wanted, needed, to watch his husband come part under him like this, so he growled deep in his throat and kept his relentless pace. Johns head rolled side to side, trying to keep eye contact with the waves of pleasure rolling over him was proving almost impossible. He made sounds, he knew, but they were not words, not in any known language anyway.

"John, my god John, so tight and slick and silky for me, my beautiful John, so open for me..." Sherlock whispered dirtily, knowing it would shake his John to bits but doing it anyway, just to see..to see...

"Oh God John,come, please, come for me.." 

Johns eyes went blank, he stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but bright pinwheels of light as his body spasmed. He choked on saliva deep in his throat and he came, his ropey white come shooting from his hard and quivering cock.

"Oh John...god John, my perfect perfect John..."

And then Sherlock was coming too, deep inside Johns body, hot spurt after hot spurt, his stomach hollowed with a mad and consuming love for this man shivering and quaking beneath him.

"Oh my John, My John, I love you...I love yoooouuuuu..."

And he all but blacked out as his orgasm short wired all his circuits.

#

Later that night, by the light of a beautiful moon, Sherlock watched as SleepingJohn removed the knife from under Johns pillow and slid it into Johns suitcase. Then the Alter rocked a minute, staring at nothing. Suddenly his body relaxed, and he came back to bed, pulling Sherlock in close and sighing happily.

The tears on Sherlocks face were happy tears. He smiled into the darkness and kissed SleepingJohns knuckles before tucking the arm safely against him.

SleepingJohn snuffled against Sherlocks spine and fell back to sleep, finally feeling loved and warm.

And safe.

He was finally safe.

# 

THE  
N  
D


End file.
